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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018782">Light Cleric</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/IraCreasman/pseuds/IraCreasman'>IraCreasman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Original Work</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adventure, Childhood Trauma, Coming of Age, Fantasy, Gen, Hero's Journey, Orphan - Freeform, Young protagonist, cleric - Freeform, light - Freeform, religious</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-05-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 21:46:55</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>12</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>62,273</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28018782</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/IraCreasman/pseuds/IraCreasman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Piety Chruchstep is an outcast. Her pure white hair makes her a target for abuse from the Mother Superior, the sisters, the acolytes, even the other orphans. Temperance, Piety's only friend, is certain Piety is special, and when an old cleric shows up on the orphanage doorstep and falls ill, Piety proves Temperance right by healing him with the strange, bright, chiming power deep within her. </p><p>Soon thereafter, Piety and Temperance leave the orphanage for the wider world where they face villains, vampires, and war.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Prologue</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>LIGHT CLERIC is the first in a fantasy epic, coming of age, adventure trilogy. It is my first novel, written between October 23, 2008 and December 30, 2010. It's complete at 1 prologue, 30 chapters, and 140k words. Updates will come on the 3rd Saturday of the month until the full story is posted.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Minerva Aegis, Prophet of Purple Eyes, Mother of Archetypes, and now, apparently, Rescurer of Babies, cursed her lack of foresight. She should have remembered tonight would be the night of the fiercest blizzard the region had seen in decades. She should have dressed for the weather. She should have packed a blanket.</p><p>And yet.</p><p>She braved the blinding blizzard for the sake of the baby snuggled warm against her skin. The baby had appeared before her—at the wrong place, at the wrong time—and being a prophet Minerva had known who the child was, who she would become, and where she was meant to be. She had, of course, hesitated. She knew what was to come for the child. She remembered the scoldings and the beatings and the fear.  </p><p>Presently Minerva crossed into Appledell, a small town in the Valley of Three Rivers in the Province of Shannon. The buildings provided some protection from the wind. Minerva took a moment to catch her breath and shake the snow from her hood.</p><p>Sacred Heart was the largest building in town, and the old prophet laid the child upon its front step. She knew the baby would be found soon, that she would not suffer long in the storm.</p><p>“You are where the story starts. I suppose I must be where it ends.”</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Piety Churchstep spent her first few years in the nursery of Sacred Heart, a small, cramped place ruled by acolytes with deriding glares and sharp tongues and firm hands. There were other orphans in the nursery, but as soon as Piety learned to be curious about them, she was set to work scrubbing pots in the kitchen and sweeping dust in the hallways, leaving her too tired for curiosity.</p><p>Still, she managed learn.</p><p>She learned she was lesser than the acolytes, that her plain clothes marked her an orphan. She learned she and the other orphans were apart from the Daughters of God, who He had chosen for His service, and that only the charity of the acolytes and sisters and especially the Mother Superior guaranteed her a place to live and food to eat and clothes to wear. She learned her pure white hair and tendency to use her left hand set her apart from the other orphan girls who all had brown hair to match brown eyes and brown skin, and who all used their right hands without error. Piety learned that she stood out and to stand out was bad.</p><p>At four years old, Piety was removed from the nursery. A tall sister with a serious face and long fingers came to the nursery and introduced herself as Sister Sheliah. The sister knelt and placed her hands firmly on Piety’s shoulders.</p><p>“I’m the Mistress of Orphans. Happy birthday, Piety.”</p><p>Piety didn’t understand. She didn’t know what a birthday was, why it should be happy, or why it should be any different than any other day. So far as she knew, only the eight holy days were special, and winter solstice had passed a couple weeks ago. But Piety did understand Sister Sheliah had paid her a compliment.</p><p>“Thank you, Sister,” she whispered.</p><p>Sister Sheliah nodded. “You’re four years old now. It’s time you learned to make yourself useful.”</p><p>Not wanting to be thought useless, Piety spoke before her learned reticence could stop her. “Sister? I know how to wash dishes.”</p><p>Sister Sheliah smiled at her, and the rare expression put a glow in Piety’s chest.  </p><p>“Good girl, but we’ll be teaching you a good deal more than dish washing.”</p><p>Sister Sheliah took her by the hand and led her down cold, stone hallways interspersed with grey curtains. They stopped at one and Sister Sheliah pushed it aside to reveal a small stone room containing two beds, a wooden chest, a small table with a stub of candle on it, and a girl clad in a simple grey dress. The dress was similar to Piety’s, so Piety concluded the girl was also an orphan.</p><p>The orphan girl stood when they entered and bowed to the sister, her hands folded at her waist. “Good morning, Sister Sheliah.”</p><p>“Temperance, this is your new roommate, Piety Churchstep. Piety, meet Temperance Sunday.” Sister Sheliah gave Piety a push into the room.</p><p>The girls looked at each other.</p><p>“Temperance, you’ll show Piety to meals and chores and classes today. Understood?”</p><p>Temperance bowed again. “Yes, Sister.”</p><p>“Good. You know where to find me if you need me.” Sister Sheliah pulled the curtain closed behind her.</p><p>For several minutes, the girls examined each other shyly, neither sure what to do.</p><p>Piety couldn’t help but notice Temperance had the same brown hair as everyone else, but, rather than contemptuous, she looked friendly. She was short and slight, no bigger than Piety, but surely older to be put in charge. They might have stood there a good deal longer had the morning bell not rung, signaling six-hour.</p><p>Temperance took Piety’s hand. “I suppose we’d better get to breakfast, or we won’t get any.”</p><p>Again, Piety was led through the hallways until they reached a large room with long, wooden tables: the refectory. Piety had always eaten breakfast in the nursery, only passing through the refectory to go to the kitchens for dish-washing, so it was a novelty to sit at a table with all the other orphans. She squeezed onto the end of a bench, next to Temperance.</p><p>Soon, more orphans came from the kitchen and served them, starting with the few sisters chatting quietly at the head table, then the acolytes spread out between two tables, and finally the orphans crowded at one. The porridge and roll and water was the same as she’d been given in the nursery, but for the first time, she saw that the acolytes ate something else, something that smelled wonderful. The acolytes who tended the nursery didn’t eat in the nursery, but she always assumed everyone was given the same breakfast: porridge and roll and water</p><p>“What’s that?” Piety asked Temperance, indicating the acolytes’ breakfast. She craned to see it.</p><p>“Shush,” said Temperance, and her urgency made Piety remember the acolytes’ hard hands and an orphan’s proper place. She and Temperance ate breakfast in silence.</p><p>After breakfast came kitchen duty where Piety was put to work doing what she usually did, washing dishes. After kitchen duty came laundry duty, a new experience. It was similar to washing dishes except done outside in the laundry yard, which, in the winter, was icy work. After laundry duty came lessons taught by Sister Jayne.</p><p>“Who are you?” Sister Jayne demanded as she approached the bench where Temperance and Piety sat together at a small desk. Temperance had been reading softly to Piety from the Scriptures, the story of Saint Zyta and the Endless Ocean. The acolytes in the nursery had read to them from the Scriptures daily but had done so in a quick, bored tone.</p><p>Piety stood from the bench and bowed her head. “My name is Piety Churchstep. Sister Sheliah said I was to learn to make myself useful.”</p><p>“Look at me, child.”</p><p>Piety looked up at the tall Sister.</p><p>“I do not abide laziness, foolishness, or stupidity. I will teach you to read and write and figure, and I expect you to learn. Understood?”</p><p>“Yes, Sister.”</p><p>After class came more chores: she ground herbs in the cellar, changed candles in the hallway, then swept the hall outside the room she now shared with Temperance. After chores came dinner: soup, roll, and water as always, but different from what the acolytes ate. After dinner, Piety followed Temperance into the sanctuary for evening sermon.</p><p>Piety had never been in the sanctuary before and was so stunned by the grand room that she stopped moving. They entered the sanctuary through a side door hidden by thick, velvet curtains of red and gold. The large, heavy benches were built and carved of wood, stained almost black, and polished to a shine. The walls, where they weren’t covered by the curtains, were a pure white stone gleaming in the light of so many candles the air smelled of wax.  </p><p>Piety wasn’t given long to stare. Temperance took her hand and dragged her to the back of the sanctuary, near the outside entrance, and they sat on a bench with the other orphans. All the orphans sat at the back while acolytes and sisters sat in front with the people from the village sitting in between. From here, Piety could see the head of the sanctuary where was a raised dais. Several sisters sat on large, ornately carved chairs upon the dais. Behind and above the dais was a large, round window comprised of colored glass arranged in a stylized sunburst with nine rays, the symbol for God.</p><p>A shiver ran through her as she took in the window for the first time.</p><p>Behind them was a similar window set above the main entrance, almost right above their heads. Most evenings, she realized, the sun would shine through the window, bathing the sisters on the dais in brilliant colors, but the early dark of winter required candlelight.</p><p>“Piety,” Temperance whispered urgently, “Piety, sit down. Please sit down.”</p><p>Piety realized she’d stood on the bench to turn around and gaze in wonder at the stained glass window above her. The other orphans looked at her with varying expressions, some with concern, some snickering behind their hands, some with the same disdain the nursery-tending acolytes had. Piety sank slowly onto the bench, but Temperance’s warning had come too late.</p><p>Piety was grabbed by the shoulder, pulled from her bench, and hurried down the central aisle. Her feet barely touched the floor as she was hauled over the scarlet and gold rug running from the entryway to the dais. Shocked, Piety was to the dais before she thought to look up at who had grabbed her.</p><p>The woman was the angriest looking sister she’d ever seen. Her dress was the same colors as the decorations in the sanctuary, scarlet and gold. Her sunburst pendant was shiny gold and sparkly red stones, her greying brown hair was pulled into a tight bun atop her head. Her grip was strong and her fingernails sharp.</p><p>From her new position, Piety could see detail on the chairs at the back of the dais: scroll patterns, tiny sunbursts, and words she didn’t know. The sisters who sat in those chairs looked at her with varying degrees of non-expression. Piety recognized some, Sister Sheliah and Sister Jayne she’d met just that morning, others she’d seen before but didn’t know.</p><p>“Who is this?” It was the woman who had grabbed Piety, and her voice was as harsh as her expression.</p><p>At first, Piety thought the woman was addressing her, and she tried to think of a polite way to admit ignorance.</p><p>Sister Sheliah answered.</p><p>“You named her Piety Churchstep, Mother. Today is her fourth birthday and I brought her to the dormitories.”</p><p>“Her fourth founday you mean. We do not know her birthday,” the woman replied, rebuke evident in her voice.</p><p>Sister Sheliah bowed her head. “Yes, Mother.”</p><p>“What’s wrong with her hair?” the Mother demanded.</p><p>No sister answered. Piety realized this woman spoke to the sisters the same way sisters spoke to acolytes, the same way acolytes spoke to orphans. This was the Mother Superior.</p><p>The Mother knelt next to Piety and grabbed her hair. Piety gasped, and tried to hold still. The Mother put her face close to Piety’s. Piety could see her pale brown, almost golden eyes, could see the faint wrinkles across her forehead, could smell the sweet-scented soap in her hair.</p><p>“Never before have I seen a child so clearly marked as unclean. You must feel fortunate, Piety Churchstep, that we Daughters of God found you. Your hair marks you. You’d be dead before you could walk had we not taken you in. Hanged for theft, or worse.”</p><p>“Yes, Mother,” Piety replied, mimicking Sister Sheliah’s words.</p><p>The Mother released Piety’s hair and Piety could not stay standing. The pain and shock had drained her. She fell to her knees, bowed her head to the rug-covered dais, and tried not to cry.</p><p>“That’s right, girl,” the Mother said, “kneel and pray to God for His mercy.”</p><p>The Mother turned away from Piety and addressed the gathered sisters, acolytes, citizens, and orphans, expounding on God’s mercy and His punishment for those who displeased Him. She spoke on how God would mark those who were sinister, unclean, unfit to be in His service, He would mark them with unnatural coloring. But Piety wasn’t listening. Instead, she did as she’d been told, she knelt upon the rug, lifting her face only enough to see the great stained glass window at the other end of the great room, and she prayed.</p><p>For as long as she could remember, Piety had been told about God, about how He lived in the sun and watched from above and loved everybody, even dirty orphans. She had been told to pray and had bowed her head and stayed quiet while the nursery acolytes recited words. But she’d never offered a prayer herself.  </p><p>For the first time, she considered asking God for something. She could ask for anything, she realized, and her first thought was to ask God to punish this mean woman, but at the last moment decided against it. She didn’t like the way the thought made her feel.</p><p>So, instead, she asked for love.</p><p>That felt nicer.</p><p>Piety’s breathing slowed, her thoughts focused, and she felt a tingle in her chest that spread to shoulders and hips, the base of her head and the small of her back. It tingled along her arms all the way to her fingertips and along her legs to the smallest of her toes. It filled her head, her vision, her hearing, until she could see only a fuzzy whiteness, and hear only a glorious, chiming harmony. </p><p>From the haze of light, a form sharpened in her mind. It was a place. A room. A room in her mind where no one else could go, a place to be alone with her thoughts, a place to be unafraid.</p><p>“Wretch!”</p><p>Piety was knocked from the place in her mind by a blow to the back of her head that sent her sprawling. The tingle suffusing her body fled, chased away by a crushing nausea and a heavy pain that repeatedly struck her back and side. Above her there was shouting, angry voices, but for Piety, the world faded away.</p><p>Three days later, Piety awoke, stiff and sore, but whole. Temperance embraced her but let go when Piety groaned in pain. Temperance explained to Piety that she had begun to glow and the Mother Superior had never been so angry. The Mother had beaten Piety, kicking her when she fell until Sister Sheliah intervened. Sister Sheliah had been expelled from Sacred Heart.</p><p>“I glowed?”</p><p>Temperance nodded, her face shining with excitement and creased with worry. “Yeah. Everyone saw it.”</p><p>“Are you sure?”</p><p>“Of course I’m sure.”</p><p>Piety had her doubts, but kept them to herself.</p><p>When Sister Clarice, who introduced herself as Sacred Heart’s healer, said she was well enough, Piety returned to chores and classes, and life at Sacred Heart progressed through the years.</p><p>She learned to read from the Holy Scriptures and to write by copying the Scriptures onto a slate board with soft chalk. She learned numbers, how to add and subtract and multiply and divide. She learned how to mend and wash clothes, to weed and harvest a garden. She learned to make candles, and grind herbs, and scrub floors. Piety learned to hide her white hair, the mark of God’s displeasure, with a scarf lest she be berated by every passerby with the authority to do so. Unfortunately there was little she could do about her white eyebrows standing sharply against her brown skin. She learned to use her right hand rather than her left, lest her knuckles be rapped until they bruised. Sometimes they bled. She learned to recognize the Mother Superior’s distinctive stride, even in her sleep.</p><p>She learned to be unobtrusive, to stay out of the way, and in so doing, to avoid harsh words and harsh hands. She accomplished this by sweeping. To sweep the halls and the refectory and the kitchen and the sanctuary and especially the cellar, was the least of tasks among the orphans. No one wanted to do it because it was boring and lonely and time consuming. For Piety, it was perfect. She preferred to be alone, it meant she didn’t have to deal with the cruel commentary of her peers.</p><p>Soon, sweeping became Piety’s primary chore, so much so that it became her name: Sweep.</p><p>Sweep learned she had no talent for cooking or any task associated with cooking. No matter how many times she was spanked for ruining the meat because she could not turn a spit properly, or for putting too much salt in the bread, or for burning the sauce, she never got it right. Unlike her other lessons, she never learned to do it correctly the next time, or even the time after. Eventually Sister Dora, Sacred Heart’s head cook, limited her kitchen duties to washing dishes and cleaning tables, for which Sweep was grateful.</p><p>She learned of God and His Eight Saints.</p><p>Sister Jayne taught them to read using the Scriptures, the stories of the Eight Saints, which taught lessons of acceptance, tolerance, and community. She read about Saint Esther and the Dread Necromancer; Saint David and the Centaur Herd; Saint Mary and the Flight Through Heaven.</p><p>She read the stories again and again, and soon she couldn’t help but think the Saints wouldn’t have cared that she had white hair or used her left hand or was an orphan. Which, inevitably, lead her to think the Mother Superior, and by extension most inhabitants of Sacred Heart, had it all wrong. She began to think they were wrong when they claimed to know God’s will or what He cared about. But she shared that particular revelation only with Temperance and only late at night when everyone else had gone to sleep.</p><p>Temperance nodded and shrugged. “But it doesn’t matter. We’re orphans. I think you’re right, but you won’t convince them.”</p><p>Temperance was Sweep’s confidant and only friend. Despite the negative attention Sweep received, Temperance didn’t regard her as unclean. When the other orphans tossed snide comments at Sweep, Temperance was quick to defend her. When they tried to play nasty tricks to get Sweep in trouble, Temperance would warn her. When she fell behind in her studies because she’d been assigned extra chores, Temperance tutored her. And yet Sweep’s status as anathema never translated to Temperance; the others accepted Temperance and pitied her for having to share a room with the white-haired wretch, no matter how Temperance defended her.</p><p>Of everything Sweep learned at Sacred Heart, it was what she learned on her own she most cherished: how to go to the secret place in her mind whenever she wanted.</p><p>Late one summer evening, when she was nine years old, under a cloud-scattered sky, Sweep found herself alone on the front step of the sanctuary, performing the task for which she had become known. That step, in the shadow of the large double doors, was where she’d been found as a baby, it was where many orphan girls were found, so she always took care to do a thorough job sweeping it.</p><p>Once finished, she stepped inside and was ready to go to bed when the clouds shifted and the stained glass window above the door was suddenly lit to as brilliant as she’d ever seen it, casting a multi-colored pool of light upon the dais where the Mother Superior gave her sermons.</p><p>Inspired, Sweep walked to the dais but not onto it, afraid to enter the pool of light. With a slow breath, she knelt, laid her broom at her side, and closed her eyes. She cleared her mind, slowed her breathing, and relaxed her body, as she’d been taught for prayer.</p><p>But she didn’t ask God for anything.</p><p>Sister Jayne taught that communicating with God required one to quiet the body and mind so as to ready the soul for asking Him to hear a request. Sweep often overheard the other girls asking for silly favors: rain so weeding would be canceled, or berries in the porridge, or fewer math sums. But Saint Zyta the Poet taught that prayer was to “Empty yourself of self, of selfishness. Only then can you be open to the message of the Divine.”</p><p>Sweep tried to empty herself of self.</p><p>A tingling started at the base of her head, her shoulders went numb, and she was suffused with buzzing vigor, chimes at the edge of hearing. As she had five years before, she saw a place in her mind, a place that was hers, and this time, with no one to stop her, she went there.</p><p>A moment later, she blinked away a greenish-yellow afterimage and looked around a small room. It was stone, like the room she shared with Temperance, but this one contained a bookcase filled with eclectic variety, a small table where rested a small wooden box, and a large, comfortable chair upholstered in silver and patterned in swirls and angles of black. There was no door to the room, no windows, but Sweep was unconcerned. Intuitively, she understood this room existed only in her mind and she could leave any time she liked simply by willing it.</p><p>Examining the bookcase, she found books she’d never seen before. She knew books other than the Scriptures existed, she had seen them in the library on the rare occasions she was required to sweep it, but few of the titles she read now were the same as those she had peeked at. Sweep had only ever read the Scriptures, and much as she loved the Eight Saints, the prospect of new stories excited her.</p><p>The box on the table was held shut with a simple latch and inside rested a stack of something she had no name for—thick pieces of smooth, shiny paper with numbers and shapes on them. Flipping through them she discovered there were only four shapes and each shape was assigned a value from one to ten and each shape also got three portraits, though who the portraits were meant to be of, she had no idea. Interestingly, though some portraits were of people who looked like the people of Sacred Heart—brown hair, brown eyes, brown skin—some depicted people of different colors: pink and black skin, blue and green eyes, yellow and red hair. She was stunned to see such a variety.</p><p>None was white-haired, like her, though.</p><p>Finally, Sweep turned her attention to the chair. It was a chair similar to those she’d seen in sisters’ private rooms while sweeping. It had a high back, sturdy, claw-shaped feet, and a well cushioned seat. She reached out and touched it gently, tracing the black swirls and angles with a finger. As she did, some of the black patterns wavered and became white.</p><p>Sweep snatched back her hand and gasped.</p><p>In the next moment, she was back in the sanctuary, kneeling on the rug before the dais. A quick look around revealed she was still alone. With a small, relived sigh, she picked up the broom and left for the dormroom she shared with Temperance. As she navigated the stone corridors, a disquieting thought occurred to her. Sweep had been different for as long as she could remember, and though a secret place she could access whenever she wanted was an exciting prospect, it was also another difference.</p><p>Temperance sat on her bed, reading the Scriptures by candlelight, when Sweep entered.</p><p>“Temperance, what happens when you pray?”</p><p>Temperance looked up and blinked at Sweep. “Uh… well, mostly I try not to fall asleep. Either that or every little thing distracts me.”</p><p>“So you never, uh, you never go anywhere?” Sweep leaned back against the wall.</p><p>Temperance set her book aside and scooted to the bed’s edge. “No,” she said slowly. “Do you go somewhere?”</p><p>Sweep nodded; she tried not to shiver.</p><p>“What’s wrong?”</p><p>Answers galloped through Sweep’s mind: I have white hair, I’m left handed, I’m unclean, I’m sinister, I’m different… But she couldn’t articulate them. Instead, Sweep dissolved into tears, unable to speak. Temperance helped her to bed where she cried against Temperance’s shoulder until exhaustion claimed her.</p><p>Eventually, Sweep was able to tell Temperance about the room in her mind, about the book-filled shelves and the small table and its box with odd papers and the chair that had changed color. They talked about it in quiet voices over the warm, soapy water of a laundry tub a few afternoons later.</p><p>The laundry yard was dominated by three copper tubs large enough to hold Sweep four times over. The ground was so trampled that grass never grew, and water sloshed over the sides to make mud near the tubs. Wooden clogs big enough to wear over slippers, were stored near the door, making the yard traversable. The yard was lined with a tall wood-slat fence almost twice as tall as Sweep with a narrow gate in one corner held with a wooden latch. Often, while doing laundry, Sweep would imagine what lay beyond the narrow gate.</p><p>“A room in your mind. That’s incredible,” Temperance said.</p><p>“It’s scary,” Sweep countered, though she wanted Temperance to be right.</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>“Because it means I really am different. The Mother is right.”</p><p>Temperance frowned. “Don’t say that. You’ve never believed that.”</p><p>“But…”</p><p>“No. You’ve got a power, like the Saints. You’re not unclean, you’re special.”</p><p>Sweep spent the next few moments in silence, trying not to blush. She believed the Mother was wrong about the marks of disfavor, but she couldn’t believe she, a simple orphan, was special.</p><p>Temperance went on. “Can you go there whenever you want?”</p><p>Sweep shrugged. “Maybe. I haven’t tried again.”</p><p>Temperance laughed with delight. “So you could go there and ignore the Mother’s boring sermons.”</p><p>Sweep smiled.</p><p>“Where did the books and stuff come from?”</p><p>“I don’t know,” Sweep admitted. “Most of them I’ve never seen before.”</p><p>Temperance laughed again. “Your mind knows more things than you do.”</p><p>Though Sweep was unconvinced of her specialness, she visited the room in her mind often. During the hours long sermons on holydays, she’d play solitary with the playing cards, those thick pieces of paper, using rules from a book she’d found on the shelf. On nights when Temperance slept soundly but she could not, Sweep would go to that private room and read books with titles like the <em>Art of War and Misdirection</em>, and <em>Sky Wars: an Epic in 9 Episodes</em>, and <em>Attic Lights and Sidwalk Endings</em>.</p><p>New books would arrive from time to time and Sweep, though thankful for the opportunity to read something new, couldn’t stop wondering where they came from. Sometimes she would sit in the room in her mind for hours, sometimes she would enter and exit several times in quick succession, she even considered leaving a note, all hoping to meet whomever it was who added those new books. But the truth was she didn’t want to know. If there was someone else, it would mean the room in her mind wasn’t hers alone. That it might not be safe.</p><p>She never wrote the note.</p><p>Piety considered that she might be making it all up as a way to escape, or perhaps she was hallucinating. But the cushions of the chair felt real, and the games of cards were complex, and the stories in the books were so far outside her experience that she couldn’t believe she’d created them all.</p><p>Nearly a year later, Sweep found an answer for those unfamiliar items in her mind. In a book called Psychology of Man, Sweep read about the subconscious, a theory about a person’s mind below the level of thought. It seemed an odd idea, but it was an explanation she was desperate for. It allowed her to think of the books she’d never read before and the games she’d never played before, as having been absorbed somehow by her subconscious. After all, if her mind could contain a special room, why couldn’t it also fill that room? It allowed her to push those worries aside.</p><p>Which was how she learned to lie to herself.</p><p>When Sweep was eleven, something new appeared in the room, a small table and two short stools. Upon the table was a board patterned in alternating black and white squares and upon the board two sets of delicately carved figures and a small book describing the rules to a game called chess. The game involved sets of pieces, each set with a special movement pattern. The goal was to capture a unique piece: the royal.</p><p>Sweep was immediately fascinated, and she made an opening move with a white pawn. A few days later, when she returned, a black pawn had moved.</p><p>At first she was frightened.</p><p>“It was my subconscious,” she told herself, and the fear subsided.</p><p>And so she moved another pawn, and the black player responded, and on it went. Sweep lost the first game, and the second, and the third, but she enjoyed it. It was interesting and complex, and she continued to play.</p><p>Outside the room in her mind, Sweep suffered at Sacred Heart. She learned suffering was part of life, though orphans suffered more than most and she more than the rest. Sisters smacked her when she wasn’t quick enough or humble enough or quiet enough. Acolytes called her names and mocked her hair and reported her to the sisters for ‘improper behavior’. Most distressingly, the Mother Superior carried a stout rod for punishing wayward girls, and Sweep felt it on her back frequently.</p><p>But Sweep knew there was more to life than suffering at Sacred Heart. She knew because her earliest memory, before the anger of the Mother Superior, before her friendship with Temperance, before even the crowded nursery, was of a pair of bright purple eyes. She dreamed of those eyes sometimes. And every time she was mocked or smacked or beaten, she remembered those eyes and the other life they promised.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 01</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Year 1</strong>
</p><p>When she awoke, it was to the cruel hand of the Mother Superior.</p><p>Sweep flinched and yelped, scrambling to her feet, hands folded at her waist, back straight. She opened her eyes to the harsh glare of the Mother’s lantern, and had to blink back tears. The Mother Superior was dressed in her full formal church uniform; scarlet, floor-length dress with gold trim, hair pulled up tightly, rod of office snug between belt and waist.</p><p>Mentally, Sweep chastised herself for failing to hear the Mother’s footfalls. Hearing those distinctive footfalls, even while asleep, had saved her from such abrupt awakenings before. It had been a dream that had distracted her, a dream of purple eyes and storm-tossed chessboards. It had seemed important at the time.</p><p>Sweep kept her eyes on the stone floor, silently, awaiting the Mother’s command.</p><p>From the other bed, Temperance struggled to her feet and stood with her head bowed. The Mother didn’t spare Temperance a second glance, and Sweep was grateful. The Mother’s hatred for Sweep resulted in Temperance rarely suffering more than neglect, which was better than the alternative.</p><p>The Mother looked at Sweep as she always did, with disdain.</p><p>“Acolyte Weaver has taken ill,” the Mother snapped, filling the room with her voice.</p><p>“Yes, Mother,” both girls responded.</p><p>The Mother pointed at Sweep. “You’ll tend her today in addition to your other duties.”</p><p>“Yes, Mother.”</p><p>The Mother left without another word, brushing past the curtain that separated their room from the hallway, taking her lamp with her, thrusting them into darkness. Sweep gave a sigh of relief that Temperance echoed. Confrontations with the Mother Superior were often considerably less pleasant.</p><p>“Good morning, Temperance,” Sweep said lightly.</p><p>Temperance laughed nervously through the darkness, and Sweep heard her sit heavily on her bed.</p><p>Since the Mother had taken her lantern with her, Sweep navigated the small room by feel and memory. The small trunk between the two narrow beds held the girls’ clothes. Sweep retrieved a dress, the same grey dress all orphans wore. Despite the nearly two years age gap, both girls were short and skinny and mostly the same size. As such, they were unconcerned with keeping their clothes separate.</p><p>“You’re not going now, are you?” Temperance asked.</p><p>“If I’m going to have time to eat today, I’ll need to get my sweeping chores started early.”</p><p>Temperance sighed again. “Why does she always pick you for extra work?”</p><p>Sweep slipped into the dress she had retrieved, pulling the thin belt tight about her waist. She shrugged at Temperance’s question and ran a hand through her short, white hair. She would have preferred to have it long like the other girls, but the Mother insisted it be kept short.</p><p>“Why do I have white hair and use my left hand?” Sweep asked in return.</p><p>“It’s not fair,” Temperance muttered.</p><p>“You once told me that they’re the adults and we’re just orphans.” She bound her short, white hair in a grey handkerchief to keep it hidden. “Of course it’s not fair, it is what it is.”</p><p>“I said that?” Temperance scoffed. “Saint Weston the Wise warned against heeding the wisdom of fools.”</p><p>“He also said ‘Truth spoken by accident is no less truth.’ I’ll be fine. You should get some more sleep, I’ll see you later.”</p><p>Sweep pushed aside the curtain separating their room from the hallway, but Temperance stopped her with a hand on her shoulder. When Sweep turned, Temperance leaned forward and gave her a kiss on the cheek then hugged her tightly.</p><p>“Happy birthday,” said Temperance, “It’s Newyear. You’re twelve years old now.”</p><p>“Oh.” Sweep returned the hug. “I’d forgotten.”</p><p>Temperance released her friend and took a step back. “I know. I wish I had a better present for you.”</p><p>Sweep smiled. Neither Sweep nor Temperance knew how old they truly were. The Sisters of Sacred Heart recorded the day an orphan was taken in by the church as the orphan’s founday. Sweep and Temperance had chosen to consider their foundays their birthdays and celebrate as best they could.</p><p>Sweep made her way silently though the dark, cold dormitory halls to the sanctuary. It wasn’t any warmer in the sanctuary and barely brighter; the candles had burned down in the night, which meant some orphan had shirked her duty.</p><p>Sweep went to the cupboard where the candles were kept and gathered as many as she could without dropping them. Replacing and lighting the candles took nearly an hour, but by the task’s end, she was feeling wide awake and warm, and the sanctuary was well lit, as it was meant to be.</p><p>In an alcove at the back of the sanctuary was a small closet where Sweep kept a broom specifically for the sanctuary. The broom wasn’t special, but the Mother got cranky if she thought the sanctuary hadn’t been recently swept.</p><p>The sanctuary was a large room and so Sweep had developed a strategy—starting behind the dais, then sweeping the aisle, then between the pews, taking all the dust to the sides of the sanctuary. Once there, she’d sweep the sides until she was at the grand entryway to the sanctuary.</p><p>This job, too, took nearly an hour.</p><p>At the entryway, she put a hand on one of the great double doors and pushed it open. The doors were never locked; in fact there was no way to lock them as they were meant to always be open to any seeking entry to God’s house. The doors were large, made from solid wood carted from the coast where Kinswell, the capital of Khulanty, was. The doors were stained dark like the pews and carved with religious images. Prominently in the center of each was a large sunburst, the symbol of God. Along each hinge side, were the Eight Saints. Along the bottom of the doors were images of pious mortals, kneeling in prayer. Once a month, Sweep oiled the hinges and polished the copper handles.</p><p>Large as the doors were, they swung open easily and quietly. As soon as the door was open, a gust of chilled air pushed inside, carrying the scent of rain. It reminded Sweep of her dreams of the purple-eyed woman, and she smiled. The rain had stopped but the step leading from stone cobbled street to church door was still damp, washed clean.</p><p>Sweep slipped her slippers off, stepping out onto the cold, damp stone in her bare feet. She shivered and the hairs upon her arms and legs stood on end. The initial gust had scattered her careful dust pile from the sanctuary, but she re-gathered it and swept it out onto the stone step and then swept the step thoroughly, enjoying the wet stone on her bare feet.</p><p>When she was done, she made to move back inside, but stopped when she felt a raindrop strike her shoulder. The water soaked into her dress, and she relished the feeling for several moments before she looked at the grey sky and was graced with another droplet upon her forehead. That droplet suffused her with a tingly energy. It was a familiar feeling, the same she’d felt when first seeing the room in her mind. Just at the edge of hearing came the gentle chimes.</p><p>Sweep laughed and felt the power strengthen. She stared into the clouds as more drops pattered about her, streaks of water rushing toward the earth, and for a moment, her mind rushed to meet them, streaking away into the air.</p><p>She danced among the clouds, slipping between them, dodging and leaping about the cloudscape. Here, over the valley, the clouds dropped rain, but Sweep could feel that further up, where the clouds were piled atop the mountains in the west, snow fell in thick, wet flakes.</p><p>Below her spread the village of Appledel in the Valley of the Three Rivers, nestled in the Western Mountains of the Nation of Khulanty. Miles of orchards and farms hugged the threee rivers in an otherwise arid landscape. The farmland was fed by the three rivers, which eventually merged into the Grand River on the plains east of the valley.</p><p>All of this Sweep saw and knew from her place among the clouds. Then she fell, side by side with the other raindrops, she stretched to a streak of water and power. The ground neared at an exhilarating rate, but she felt no fear. She and the others struck but did not stop. They sank into the thirsty earth. Life, long since asleep, woke at her touch, stirred, and strove for the surface.</p><p>With a gasp, Sweep returned to herself, breathing hard and feeling as though she’d spent all day scrubbing every floor of Sacred Heart. The rain came more steadily now. She hurried inside, closed the door, and leaned against it. Her heart beat fast and her eyes were shut tight. She slowed her breathing, reminding herself of the meditation exercises used in prayer. Soon, she was able to breathe without gasping, and her muscles relaxed.</p><p>It was new and thrilling and frightening. Sweep had grown accustomed to the room in her mind, playing chess with her subconscious, and having access to books she’d never heard of. She had felt the tingly energy and heard the faint chimes since she’d been four years old. But leaping into a storm cloud and falling with the rain was a new development. Not for the first time, Sweep wondered if she was hallucinating.</p><p>Either way, there was work yet to be done. She took another breath to steady herself, slipped her slippers back on, and got to it.</p><p>Finished in the sanctuary, Sweep moved on to the dormitory hallways, acolytes’ first, orphans’ next. She swept methodically, gathering the debris into a dust pan and disposing of it at windows and side doors, trying to take refuge in the mundane task.</p><p>By the time she was finished sweeping the classrooms, the church bell sounded six-hour, alerting Sweep that breakfast was in five minutes. There was an entrance to the refectory near the classrooms, but that entrance was reserved for acolytes and sisters; orphans were forbidden to use it. To get to the orphans’ entrance, she would have to navigate the acolytes’ dormitories, through the hallway between the dormitories and the sanctuary, then through the orphans’ dormitories to the refectory entrance. However, the hour was early enough that acolytes and sisters might not yet be in the refectory.</p><p>For several moments, Sweep considered chancing use of the acolytes’ entrance, but she decided she didn’t want a beating so early in the morning. Instead, she walked as quickly as she dared on the circuitous route to the orphans’ entrance. To be caught running in the halls was to risk a beating as well.</p><p>Temperance was at the end of the line, looking anxiously down the hallway, when Sweep hurried around the corner. Temperance smiled with relief when she saw her.</p><p>“I thought you weren’t going to make it.”</p><p>Sweep tried to control her breathing. “You know I wouldn’t miss breakfast.”</p><p>The girls filed into the refectory and to the long wooden table nearest the orphans’ entrance. The other two tables were reserved for acolytes. Acolytes weren’t required to wake when orphans were, but even so there were a few girls at those tables. Sweep was relieved she’d made the effort to go the long way around. There was no one at the head table which redoubled Sweep’s relief. If the Mother saw her looking harried she might have decided to investigate. Further, it meant she could eat without worrying about having to use her right hand instead of her left.</p><p>The girls sat, Sweep and Temperance at the end of the table, a little separated from the others. The orphans who had kitchen duty in the early morning filed into the refectory from the door near the head table. They carried trays laden with bowls of porridge. The tray was set on the table and the girls each took a bowl. Sweep ate heartily, her early morning work awaking adolescent hunger.</p><p>Someone nearby sighed. “What I wouldn’t give for a taste of strawberry.”</p><p>Sweep looked up. It was Lillyfield, a petite girl who had the habit of staring off in a dreamy sort of way.</p><p>Another girl, Faith, leaned forward and whispered. “Yesterday morning, when I was in the kitchen…” she paused and looked around dramatically. Several orphan girls leaned in, and Faith played to the audience by raising her eyebrows dramatically. “I snitched one and gobbled it down.”</p><p>“No!” exclaimed someone further down the table.</p><p>“Wasn’t Cook angry with you?” asked Lillyfield.</p><p>“That fat old nag?” Faith dismissed Cook, “She didn’t even notice.”</p><p>“I tried that once.” Lillyfield said. “Cook rapped my knuckles with that spoon she carries.”</p><p>Some of the girls laughed.</p><p>“She did you a favor,” said Sweep. She knew she would win no friends by speaking up, but Cook, a recent addition to Sacred Heart, was a good woman, and Sweep didn’t like what Faith had said about her. Besides, it wasn’t wise to brag about breaking the rules. Though the other orphans were not her friends, Sweep strove to reduce the number of victims at Sacred Heart.</p><p>The other orphans quieted down. Sweep looked up from her bowl of porridge and down the table to see Lillyfield glaring at her.</p><p>“What do you mean?” Lillyfield demanded. “Don’t I deserve a berry once in a while?”</p><p>Sweep shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. But I do know that if the Mother found out, you’d have gotten more than a rap on the knuckles.”</p><p>“How would Mother find out?” Faith demanded.</p><p>Sweep shifted her gaze to Faith who looked about nervously instead of smugly, no longer proud of her burglary.</p><p>Sweep shrugged again, but then nodded her head to those few acolytes in the refectory. Several orphans looked at the acolytes and the acolytes hurriedly looked away.</p><p>“Thanks a lot, Sweep,” Faith muttered. “Now see what you’ve done?”</p><p>Sweep didn’t respond; she was used to being blamed.</p><p>“They’ll probably run straight to Mother,” said Lillyfield.</p><p>Faith groaned and shot another glare at Sweep.</p><p>“It’s not her fault,” Temperance objected. “You shouldn’t have bragged and you shouldn’t have stolen.”</p><p>“You don’t always have to take her side,” Faith snapped. “Sweep can’t do anything to you. She’s just unclean. It’s not like she has magic or anything.”</p><p>Some of the other girls giggled at the notion.</p><p>Temperance opened her mouth to speak again, but Sweep tapped her friend’s kneel lightly under the table, the signal to let the confrontation pass. The other girls liked Temperance, they pitied her for having to share a room with Sweep. Sweep didn’t want Temperance to have to deal abuse from the other orphans just because of her.</p><p>The mid-hour bell tolled and the girls on kitchen duty emerged to collect the bowls from breakfast. Sweep finished off her porridge before standing. She and Temperance began collecting bowls as well while other girls made their way to morning lessons.</p><p>“I’ve warned them before about talking where the acolytes can hear,” Sweep whispered.</p><p>Temperance nodded, but when she spoke, it was to change the subject. “I hate washing dishes,” she complained as they carried the bowls into the kitchen. “My hands get all wrinkly and gross.”</p><p>“It beats cooking,” Sweep countered.</p><p>“What was that?” snapped a harsh voice.</p><p>Sweep and Temperance jumped. Sweep spun around, an apology on her lips, when she saw Cook’s stern face. Cook was a large woman with butter-colored hair and eyes like the sky. Cook had been at Sacred Heart just less than a year, and Sweep liked her far better than the previous cook, a thin old sister called Dora. Cook had never hit Sweep for making a mistake in the kitchen, despite Sweep’s many, many mistakes. It was said she was from an island in the south where it was always winter, but Cook never spoke on the subject.</p><p>“Did I hear you correctly, young Sweep?” Cook demanded. “Do you mean to tell me you consider cooking beneath you?”</p><p>Sweep held her smile in check. “No, ma’am,” she replied and gave a bow, balancing her bowls. “I consider it beyond me. Besides, everyone knows that any meal I help cook ends up with twice as many dishes to clean. If they all haven’t been broken that is.”</p><p>Cook’s grim expression melted into loud laughter. Some of the other orphans even joined in. Other than Temperance, Cook was the only person at Sacred Heart who Sweep could relax around.</p><p>“All right girls, you know what to do, Sweep, Lillyfield, Midnight, and Joy, to the sinks. Temperance, Hope, and Charity help me at the counter.”</p><p>Sweep sighed. She had hoped she might have Temperance to talk to while she cleaned dishes, but she knew Temperance detested the chore and so could not begrudge her friend her minor fortune. For her part, she focused upon her task, ignoring the other girls’ chatter.</p><p>The dishes went slowly because the others were more interested in gossip than chores. Occasionally, those assigned to dish washing went out into the refectory to collect the dirty dishes of the sisters and acolytes finished with breakfast. When Sister Dora had been in charge of the kitchen, she made Sweep collect dishes from the refectory by herself, but since Cook had taken over, everyone on dish duty was required to take a turn.</p><p>When they were done, Lillyfield, Midnight, and Joy were all happy to have their hands out of the soapy water and went to Cook for further instructions. Sweep joined them slowly.</p><p>When Cook looked at her, the woman pursed her lips, considering the situation, then pointed at a mixing spoon and bowl of flour meant to be bread dough. Sweep bit her lip apprehensively.</p><p>“Don’t look at me like that, child,” Cook chided her, “You can mix without ruining it, I’m certain.”</p><p>Sweep looked at her warily. “Don’t you remember last time?” Cook made a face but pointed to the bowl and mixing spoon. Against her better judgment, but with determination, Sweep approached the bowl and began to mix.</p><p>When the next bell sounded, the girls finished the tasks they’d been assigned while Cook inspected.</p><p>“All right,” she hollered, “off to lessons with you.”</p><p>Sweep set her bowl upon the counter and dusted off her hands. But when she turned to leave she heard a crash behind her. Spinning around, she found her bowl dashed and bread dough splattered upon the stone floor. Sweep gasped and bent to clean the mess, instinctively bracing herself for a blow. Though Sister Dora would have hit her, Cook didn’t.</p><p>“No, girl. I’ll tend it. I swear you’re cursed.”</p><p>Sweep looked up at Cook. “I’m sorry.”</p><p>“Think nothing of it, child. The Weaver girl is ill I hear, and you’re assigned to tend her. I’ll take care of this.”</p><p>“But it’s my fault.”</p><p>“No. I should have known better than to assign you a cooking task. It never ends well when I do. Off with you. Hurry up.”</p><p>Sweep got to her feet and hurried from the kitchen and through the refectory. Temperance had waited for her at the entrance to the orphan’s dormitories.</p><p>“We’re going to be late for lessons,” Temperance chided.</p><p>“I’m not going to lessons,” Sweep reminded her. “I have to attend Acolyte Weaver.”</p><p>“Oh.” Temperance made a face. “I forgot.”</p><p>“Will you tutor me after dinner tonight?”</p><p>“Of course.” Temperance leaned forward and gave Sweep a quick kiss on the cheek. “For luck,” she said, then disappeared down the hall.</p><p>Sweep watched her go, then made her way to the acolytes’ dormitories and Lana Weaver’s room. The acolytes’ dormitories were not cold stone like the orphans’, but wood-paneled and well-lighted, swept clean every morning, usually by Sweep. Each door in the acolytes’ dormitories held a small metal plaque bearing the name of its resident. Sweep had heard of Lana, the girl was from a wealthy family, as were most of the acolytes. Lana was new, she had only been at Sacred Heart a month.</p><p>Finding Lana’s door, Sweep knocked once and waited.</p><p>“Come in,” Acolyte Weaver called.</p><p>The acolytes’ rooms weren’t much larger than those of the orphans, but they weren’t shared. Thick rugs covered the floors, and the bed was twice the size of those the orphans used.</p><p>Sweep closed the door behind her and bowed. “Good morning, Acolyte.”</p><p>Acolyte Weaver was sitting up in bed, propped by several pillows, reading a small book. She rested the book on her lap and looked at Sweep.</p><p>“Oh, hello. You’re Sweep.”</p><p>Sweep bowed again. “Are you feeling well enough for breakfast?”</p><p>“Yes,” said Lana. “I shall have fruit and spiced cider. And toast with butter and a small bowl of cream.”</p><p>Sweep struggled with her surprise. Acolytes were not allowed to order whatever they liked from the kitchen, and if Acolyte Weaver was too sick to attend classes, she would be receiving whatever breakfast Sister Clarice determined was best for her. Sweep wavered between warning the girl and letting her reap the consequences.</p><p>“Well?” Lana demanded.</p><p>Sweep steeled herself, and tried to help. “Acolyte, it is my duty as an orphan to tend you, but I can’t bring you a breakfast like that. Cook and…”</p><p>Acolyte Weaver’s face flushed. “How dare you defy me, motherless girl?” She threw a pillow at Sweep that flew far from its mark.</p><p>Sweep didn’t flinch. “I’m not defying you. I’m trying to help. Cook and…”</p><p>“I don’t care what that horrid giantess thinks. Bring me my breakfast.”</p><p>Sweep hesitated. How many times could her warning be rebuffed before the cause was well and truly lost?</p><p>Acolyte Weaver narrowed her eyes and took on a haughty look that Sweep recognized. “I have plenty of experience dealing with rebellious servants back home. Shall I take my hand to you, unclean orphan?”</p><p>Sweep shook her head. It was obvious her warnings weren’t wanted and weren’t helping. Acolyte Weaver was just like the Mother Superior, a perfect little tyrant certain of her authority and ready to demonstrate it with force on a whim.</p><p>Sweep bowed, departed, and made her way back to the kitchen, walking briskly so anyone who saw her would know she as on an errand and wouldn’t stop her.</p><p>When she reached the kitchen, she paused in the doorway. Sister Clarice was in the kitchen, talking to Cook. Sister Clarice was the foremost healer at Sacred Heart. She looked up at Sweep’s presence.</p><p>“What is it, Sweep?”</p><p>Sweep stepped forward and bowed. “Pardon me, Sister, but Acolyte Weaver has asked me to bring her breakfast.”</p><p>Sister Clarice nodded once. “Cook has prepared the broth.”</p><p>Sweep hesitated again. She could take the broth to Acolyte Weaver and suffer whatever frustration the other girl decided to deal, or she could tell Sister Clarice and let her deal with the acolyte. The former was likely to get her another pillow thrown at her, along with further verbal abuse. The other was likely to get Acolyte Weaver a scolding. A scolding, Sweep decided, wasn’t so bad. At least that way, Acolyte Weaver would know what was expected of an ill acolyte.</p><p>“Pardon, Sister, but Acolyte Weaver has asked for something else.”</p><p>The sister frowned. “I see. In that case, I shall tend to Acolyte Weaver for the morning. You tend to her chores.”</p><p>Sweep bowed. “Yes, Sister.”</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>“Sister Jayne said you must recite the whole poem from memory tomorrow during lessons.”</p><p>Sweep looked at the part of the Scriptures Temperance was pointing at, and groaned. It was Saint Lucius’ Winter Proclamation. She knew it, but not by memory. “Well, perhaps Acolyte Weaver will pretend be sick again tomorrow, and I won’t have to do it.”</p><p>Temperance looked dubious. “I don’t think Sister Jayne will consider that an adequate excuse.”</p><p>“No excuse is adequate for Sister Jayne,” agreed Sweep.</p><p>The bell tolled eighteen-hour and Sweep set aside the book. “Well, it will have to wait. I’m not going to miss dinner.” The girls left their room to join the others lining up in the hall to the orphan’s entrance to the refectory.</p><p>Dinner, as always, was hard bread and thin soup and plain water. Once dinner was in place, Mother Superior stood at the head table and the sisters followed her lead, prompting the girls to do so as well. When everyone was standing, the Mother bowed her head and everyone followed her example.</p><p>The Mother delivered a lengthy prayer, starting with the heresy of celebrating Newyear as though it were one of the Saint’s Holydays. None at Sacred Heart did so, but Sweep knew the villagers of Appledel did. Their celebrations would be heard late into the night. The Mother then moved to extolling the virtues of humility and disparaging petty theft. A few places down from her, Sweep noticed Faith and Lillyfield squirming uncomfortably, faces puffy and red.</p><p>“So be it truth,” said the Mother, and everyone in the room echoed her. The Mother sat, then the sisters, then the acolytes, and finally the orphans.</p><p>The soup was thin but lightly salted, and the bread wasn’t more than a day old; Sweep ate enthusiastically. No matter how bland the food, Sweep enjoyed eating and never wasted the opportunity.</p><p>She tried to focus on eating and ignore the conversation around her, but she still heard the chatter about Faith and Lillyfield’s punishment and blame falling at her feet. Twice today, first with Faith and then with Acolyte Weaver, Sweep had tried to warn someone, to help them avoid trouble, and both times she had failed.</p><p>Sweep was caught in her thoughts, so when Temperance nudged her, it was a surprise. Sweep looked around to see the Mother walking toward them. Once again, Sweep had let herself miss the sound of the Mother’s distinctive stride. Belatedly, she shifted her spoon to her right hand.</p><p>The girls around Sweep grew quiet as the Mother approached, rod of office held firmly in one hand. Sweep saw the woman out of the corner of her eye, but kept her gaze on her meal. She held still, her left hand flat on the table, her right clenched about the spoon, and tried to breathe evenly so as to keep from shaking. The Mother stopped behind her and just to her left.</p><p>When she felt the Mother move, Sweep tensed. The rod blurred as it arced toward her left hand, cracking across her knuckles. Sweep grit her teeth; barely a squeak escaped.</p><p>“Overuse of the left hand is a sinister omen,” the Mother declared in a voice that carried throughout the room.</p><p>“Yes, Mother,” Sweep replied. She cringed inwardly knowing the Mother would view the response as intractable.</p><p>The rod struck again, this time across her shoulders.</p><p>“Do not take that tone with me, orphan child.”</p><p>“Yes, Mother.”</p><p>Conversation in the refectory ceased; none moved. Those eyes not fixed to the table in fear, watched in anticipation. Sweep felt a familiar chiming in her ears and held to it tightly. It helped to ease the pain.</p><p>“Does it amuse you to disrespect me?”</p><p>Sweep bit her tongue, but the rod fell against her back, nevertheless. She sucked air between her teeth and held herself off the table with shaking arms and willpower.</p><p>“There is nothing about you that is not sinister and unclean,” the Mother proclaimed in the voice she used for sermons, and she struck again.</p><p>“You have never shown the proper respect,”</p><p>Again,</p><p>“You are a lazy child, ungrateful for my kindness,”</p><p>Again,</p><p>“And your unnatural, white hair is disgusting,”</p><p>Again.</p><p>Sweep leaned over the table, crying silently. Her forehead rested against the wood, tears pooling upon its surface. Still, her spoon was clutched in her right hand. She’d had worse. None of these blows, she thought, would add to the collection of scars on her back.</p><p>The Mother leaned down and whispered in Sweep’s ear. “I’d shave you completely if a girl without hair wasn’t worse than one with white hair. I’d beat you daily if I thought it would do any good. As it is, the only reason I don’t turn you out is my oath to care for any girl brought to me.”</p><p>The Mother straightened then and looked around the room. For several moments, none moved and all were silent. Then the Mother’s rod flashed.</p><p>Temperance screamed in pain and surprise. Many jumped at the sudden sound.</p><p>“Next time, stay out of it,” came the Mother’s merciless advice.</p><p class="">
  <b>• • •</b>
</p><p>Night had fallen on Newyear, on Sweep’s twelfth birthday. Some few celebrants still tottered through the streets, but the village had largely fallen quiet. Though she appreciated Temperance remembering the date, Sweep was more grateful that no one had realized her founday coincided with the false Holyday.</p><p>Sweep stood upon the front step of the church, sweeping. Clouds obscured the moon, but it did not rain. The ache of the beating made her movements stiff. She wept. It was not the ache that humbled her; it was that Temperance had been caught in her struggle against the Mother Superior.</p><p>Sweep disliked the Mother, as did most orphans. The Mother belittled them and beat them, and that was reason enough, but Sweep also knew the Mother was wrong about a lot of things. The Mother hated, and lashed out, and was unfair. These actions, Sweep was certain, weren’t the will of God and his Eight Saints. The Mother was not as pious as she pretended.</p><p>“Sweeping isn’t so bad, is it?”</p><p>Sweep looked up to see a man clad in the rough and stained clothes of a wanderer. On a length of cord around his neck, he wore the sunburst, marking him a Son of God. His hair was grey and his face was lined where it wasn’t covered with a grey beard. He smiled at her.</p><p>He wasn’t the first man Sweep had ever seen, many of the villagers who attended the Mother’s sermons were men, but it was the first time a man had addressed her.</p><p>Sweep lowered her eyes. “No sir. In fact, I rather enjoy sweeping. It gives me time alone with my thoughts”</p><p>“Then why are you crying?” he persisted.</p><p>“Other things, sir.”</p><p>“You need not lower your eyes to me, child.”</p><p>Sweep looked up at him. For a moment, the man’s eyes shone with purple light, and she wondered if this was the moment she had waited for, the moment she’d be taken from the orphanage, the moment the promise of her earliest memory was to be fulfilled. But then the light faded and she saw that his eyes were brown like hers, though perhaps lighter, almost golden.</p><p>She looked down again. “Yes, sir.”</p><p>The man sighed then coughed a few times.</p><p>“Are you ill?” Sweep asked.</p><p>“I’m fine. I just need a place to stay a few days.”</p><p>Sweep hesitated. Men weren’t allowed at Sacred Heart unless they were attending a sermon. Mother Superior didn’t like them. Sweep wondered whether or not the Mother would turn away a Son of God.</p><p>“Is your Mother Superior awake?”</p><p>Sweep shrugged. “I do not know, sir.”</p><p>“Would you show me to her rooms please?”</p><p>Sweep was loath to further invite the Mother’s wrath, but she couldn’t turn him away, he was a Son of God. And he was kind.</p><p>She nodded. “Yes, sir.”</p><p>“That would be most kind, child.” The man coughed again and took some time to catch his breath before indicating she should lead the way.</p><p>Sweep opened one of the main doors and went inside, closing it behind the old cleric. She began to lead him to the side door in the sanctuary but he went before the dais instead, where the Mother delivered her sermons, and knelt.</p><p>“Would you care to join me?” the cleric asked.</p><p>Somewhere above, the clouds broke, allowing moonlight to shine upon the valley. The light struck the stained glass window and bathed the old man in pale light. Tingly power stirred within Sweep’s breast, the chimes played at the edge of hearing. Sweep nodded, not quite daring to smile, knelt next to him, closed her eyes, and bowed her head.</p><p>A gentle buzzing filled her and she could see the place in her mind, but she did not go there. Instead, she stayed here, in the sanctuary, and prayed with a kind old man who needed a place to stay.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 02</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The third floor of the dormitories held the sisters’ apartments. Sweep had been there many times for chores though, ostensibly, acolytes were meant to tend the sisters. The hallways were wider than the floors below, and colorful tapestries covered the walls. Lanterns, standing on regularly placed pedestals, had been turned low, so the hall was lit but dim.</p><p>Sweep led the man to the Mother’s door. Her apartment was at the end of the hall. Sweep had never been inside, and thinking of what lay beyond made her shiver and hunch her shoulders.</p><p>“This is it, sir.”</p><p>He smiled at her. “Thank you, child.” He knocked on the door, and Sweep turned to leave, but he put a hand on her shoulder. “Just a moment.”</p><p>Sweep’s chest ached. The Mother wouldn’t be happy to see her; she never was. She wanted to shy away from him though he’d been kind. She wanted to flee though he’d asked her not to. This was a man of the church, a Son of God as the Mother was a Daughter of God, and Sweep had been taught to obey without question.</p><p>She had just come to the decision to suffer the kind man’s disappointment rather than the Mother’s wrath, when the decision was taken from her.</p><p>The door opened just enough to reveal Acolyte Kraus. She looked at them through the narrow opening, visibly stunned. Her surprised eyes shifted from the man to Sweep and back several times.  </p><p>“Good evening,” the man said. “I am Tristam Vytal. Would you tell Willow I’m here to see her?”</p><p>Sweep looked at the man, Father Vytal, in surprise. She hadn’t suspected he’d know the Mother Superior.</p><p>“Jessica, who is it?” The Mother’s waspish voice struck from inside the room. Hearing the Mother in such a mood, Sweep knew she didn’t want to be seen. She glanced over her shoulder down the long hallway, wondering if she ran as fast as she could, if she’d be out of sight before the Mother came to the door.</p><p>“It’s a man,” Acolyte Kraus replied carefully, as wary of the Mother’s reaction as Sweep.</p><p>Before Acolyte Kraus could explain further, the Mother said something Sweep could not make out but from Acolyte Kraus’s expression, it wasn’t good. Moments later, Acolyte Kraus was brushed aside and the door pulled all the way open.</p><p>Sweep had never seen the Mother Superior in anything but full church uniform, and for a moment she didn’t recognize the woman in the pale gold night gown heavily embroidered with sunbursts, her greying brown hair falling straight down her back without hint of a curl, her arms bare to the shoulder. Sweep had never imagined she might see the Mother’s bare arms. All sisters’, acolytes’, and orphans’ clothing was required to cover to the wrist, including the night gowns.</p><p>“Hello, Willow.”</p><p>The Mother was furious, a state she achieved regularly, and looked prepared to deliver a severe tongue lashing to whomever might be in her way. But her expression, her aggressive stance, changed as she saw Father Vytal. Her furious snarl became cold and composed, she stood with her back straight and her hands folded at her waist.</p><p>“Father,” she inclined her head. “What brings you here?”</p><p>Father Vytal chuckled and it turned into a rough cough. The Mother showed no more concern than a raised eyebrow. When he recovered he said, “Nothing more than an old man’s foolish quest. But I find myself in need of a few days’ rest.”</p><p>The Mother’s sneer returned. “And you intend to take it here? This is a girls’ orphanage, Tristam. Surely even you are not so crass?”</p><p>“You know better, Willow. Do you intend to refuse my request?”</p><p>The Mother’s expression hardened, her lips forming a thin, white line. For several moments, there was silence.</p><p>The Mother broke it with an explosive sigh. “One of our acolytes recently moved on. You may have her room for the night.”</p><p>The Mother turned away then, and Sweep held in a sigh of relief. The Mother seemed not to have seen her at all. Her attention and ire had all been for Father Vytal. For the space of a heartbeat, Sweep thought she might escape, and she held as still as she could, not daring to hope.</p><p>But then, with her back turned, the Mother said “Sweep,” in a sharp voice. “Get in here.”</p><p>For a moment her breathing stopped. She knew all the pent up anger she’d seen in the Mother this evening was about to be taken out on her back. But she’d been taught to obey and without giving thought to it, Sweep took a step forward.</p><p>Father Vytal’s hand on her arm stopped her from taking another step.</p><p>“Willow.” The Father’s voice filled the hallway, and cut through the sudden fear suffusing Sweep. “I’ll need someone to show me to the room.”</p><p>Sweep could see the Mother’s shoulders shaking with fury, but the calm strength with which the Father held her arm felt like an anchor in peace. He wasn’t going to let her go; he wasn’t going to let the Mother unleash fury upon her.</p><p>“Fine.” The word was clipped and punctuated by the door’s firm closing. Sweep held nothing but pity for Acolyte Kraus, trapped in the Mother’s chambers.</p><p>Sweep showed Father Vytal to his room and he thanked her before retreating inside. She walked to her own room, knees weak and trembling, navigating by instinct. The halls were dark and cold.</p><p>The stub of candle was lit when she arrived. Temperance was slumped over the small table, their old copy of the Scriptures open to the page containing Saint Lucius’ Winter Proclamation. She breathed softly, asleep. The sight made Piety smile. She’d forgotten about memorizing the poem, but Temperance hadn’t.</p><p>Orphans weren’t allowed many candles, so Sweep blew it out before she helped Temperance to bed and covered her with a blanket that was too thin. She considered taking the book to a window a few halls down and memorizing the poem by starlight, but she knew she would be unable to focus. Her mind tumbled with thoughts: dancing among rain clouds, her beating at dinnertime, a man who could cow the Mother. Sweep lay on her bed and went to the room in her mind, for she knew she wouldn’t sleep.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Sweep woke before Temperance. Quietly, she changed clothes and slipped out, going to the nearest closet to fetch a broom. She started with the orphans’ dormitories even though it was thickly dark in the unlighted halls. She moved on to the refectory, where not even Cook yet stirred. Next was the acolytes’ dormitories where she lingered for a time outside Father Vytal’s room. For a moment, she considered knocking at his door, but could think of no good excuse she might use for why she wanted to see him. By the time she made her way to the sanctuary and was sweeping the front step, it was snowing and the bell tolled six-hour, signaling breakfast.</p><p>She got to the refectory just as the porridge was served and sat next to Temperance with a sigh. The refectory was more full than usual for six-hour, acolytes chatted quietly, sisters filled the head table silently.</p><p>“Did you hear?” Temperance asked.</p><p>“Hear what?”</p><p>“We have a guest.”</p><p>“You mean Father Vytal?”</p><p>Temperance gave her friend a surprised look. “How’d you hear his name?”</p><p>Sweep smiled at the thrill of excitement that filled her. Narrowly escaping the Mother’s wrath last night felt like a Saint’s adventure this morning.</p><p>“I met him at the door last night and took him to the Mother.”</p><p>“Oh.” Temperance’s eyes widened. “Are you all right?”</p><p>Sweep nodded. “The Mother was furious, but Father Vytal wouldn’t let her do anything to me. He insisted that I show him to the room he was using instead of letting her summon me to her chambers.”</p><p>Temperance’s eyes were wide. “Wow.”</p><p>“Yeah.”</p><p>They let several moments of quiet pass. Sweep focused on her porridge.</p><p>“Have you heard he’s sick?” Temperance asked after a while.</p><p>Sweep frowned, remembering the man’s cough. “Is it serious?”</p><p>Temperance shrugged. “Rumor is Sister Clarice went to see him, but he’s not better yet.”</p><p>She was about to say more, but at that moment, the Mother Superior entered the refectory. Everyone stood, and bowed their heads. Following her was Sister Clarice. Mother Superior made her way to her seat at the head table, but did not sit. Instead, she looked out over the orphans and acolytes. All eyes were on her.</p><p>“Some of you may have heard that we received a guest late last night. His name is Father Vytal, and he is one of my mentors from Kinswell, where the High Cleric and the Royals live. He came to Sacred Heart last night, asking for nothing more than a place to rest his head for the night, but I fear his journeys have worn him hard, for this morning, he has a fever and the shakes. Sister Clarice has done what she can for him, and now I ask we all pray for Father Vytal’s health and recovery.”</p><p>Everyone bowed her head and silence fell over the refectory.</p><p>Sweep wanted to pray for Father Vytal, but found her thoughts running roughshod over her mind. Sister Clarice had healing power. The people of Appledel often came to her for help. Sweep had seen her fix a cut finger with nothing but a deep breath and closed eyes, fix it like it had never happened, like in the Scriptures. If Father Vytal was still ill after Sister Clarice had been to see him, it must be dire. Sweep felt her stomach turn; she was no longer hungry.  </p><p>After the prayer, everyone sat and ate and went about their days. But Sweep couldn’t stop thinking about Father Vytal. Even during lessons, after Sister Jayne spanked her for being unable to recite Saint Lucius’ Winter Proclamation, her mind returned to Father Vytal. She wanted to do something to help him, but the only thing she could think of was to pray for him, and that seemed woefully inadequate.</p><p>Three days later, Temperance was still apologizing for having forgotten to tutor her the poem.</p><p>“It’s not your fault,” Sweep insisted</p><p>“But I promised,” Temperance began. Sweep interrupted her by hugging her tight then holding her out at arms’ length.</p><p>“Forget it, it’s done.”</p><p>“You don’t hate me?”</p><p>“’Forgiveness is the gift of God but the province of all,’” Sweep quoted.</p><p>“Saint Lucius the Just,” said Temperance.</p><p>Sweep nodded. “Now get to kitchen duty before you get in trouble.”</p><p>Temperance nodded, apologized again, and hurried to the kitchen while Sweep made her way to the gardens. It had grown cold since her founday, a cold snap before true spring, and the gardens were covered in a thin frosty layer. Sweep joined the other orphans descending into the cellar where awaited the task of pounding dry herbs and sealing them in glass jars with wax lids, all overseen by a sister new to the title.</p><p>The cellar was earth walls covered with old wood panels and earth floor. The ceiling was low and dusty. Wooden shelves stored all manner of sealed glass jars. The cellar was musty in the summer, but in late winter, it just smelled of earth and cold. They closed the cellar door behind them to shut out as much cold as possible and lit lanterns to light the space and provide a little warmth. Without specific instruction beyond crushing herbs, Sweep took a lantern, found a space away from everyone else, and set to work.</p><p>Her thoughts returned to Father Vytal, unable to devote more than the most cursory and automatic of thoughts to the herbs. By the time the other girls had surrounded her, it was too late for her to do anything but stare up at them from her stool.</p><p>“Do you know what you did to me?” Faith demanded.</p><p>Sweep looked around for Temperance before remembering her friend had kitchen duty and would be unable to help. The sister in charge was at the other end of the cellar in a small circle of orphans with several lanterns. Even if she was inclined to intervene, she wouldn’t see what was about to happen.</p><p>“Maybe she’s dumb, like an animal.” Patience, a girl Sweep had never had any conflict with, nudged Sweep hard in the back.</p><p>Sweep stood but before she was to her feet, hands grabbed her arms, one grabbed her hair. She knew Patience was among them, but the shadows were deep enough she couldn’t see the others, only hear their breathing, heavy with anticipation. She struggled but they held her tight.</p><p>“No,” said Faith. “She’s not dumb. She did it on purpose.”</p><p>Sweep wanted to object, but nothing she could say would convince Faith that she’d been acting in her best interest, so she said nothing.</p><p>Faith stepped close to Sweep. Her face was lit from below by the solitary lantern, illuminating soft brown features made harsh by anger. Her eyes were hidden by the shadow of a scowl. Her hair, brown like everyone else’s, was pulled back into a tail at the top of her neck.</p><p>“Wait,” whispered a worried voice. “Faith, let’s just leave her alone.” It was Lillyfield, the dreamy girl.</p><p>“Shut up, Lilly,” Faith snapped. “The Mother beat me with a cane. I still have the marks.”</p><p>Sweep couldn’t help herself. “I’ll show you my scars sometime.”</p><p>“Do you think it’s funny?” Faith demanded</p><p>“What do you want?”</p><p>Faith smiled. “I want to return the favor.”</p><p>Sweep laughed, she couldn’t help it. The whole scenario was ludicrous. She stopped when Faith slapped her, putting a sting on her cheek and a ring in her ears.</p><p>“It’s not funny, Sweep.”</p><p>“No,” Sweep agreed, “it’s not. It’s deplorable. You’re just like her, all of you.”</p><p>Faith took a step back as though Sweep had returned the blow. The hands holding Sweep’s hair and arms eased but did not let go.</p><p>“You hate the Mother because she hit you, and I understand. I feel the same way. But look at what you’re doing.”</p><p>Faith took a few moments to collect her anger and umbrage. “You’re an unclean wretch.”</p><p>Sweep shrugged. “Maybe so. But I’ve never hit someone just because I could.”</p><p>“What’s going on back here? Get back to work you lazy brats.” The sister had come upon them without warning and began to punctuate her words with sharp smacks eliciting protesting squeals. Sweep was not spared the punishment but took it silently and went back to the chore of crushing herbs and worrying about Father Vytal.</p><p>Every day that week, at breakfast and dinner and evening sermon, the Mother told them of Father Vytal’s worsening condition, and they all prayed for him. Sweep couldn’t help but think it wasn’t enough, that she, at least, owed him more. She wished she could pray at his side. It might be a small gesture in the grand scheme of things, but Sweep felt certain it would mean more.</p><p>On the evening of the tenth day since Father Vytal had fallen ill, after Sweep had finished the evening sweeping of the sanctuary and was ready to go to bed, she was still thinking about Father Vytal. As she left the sanctuary, her gaze was caught by the door to the acolyte’s chambers, and she paused. Father Vytal was in there, still ill. He had been kind to her even though he didn’t know her; he had protected her even though she had strange, white hair.</p><p>For several minutes she stood still, staring at the door, not certain she liked where her thoughts were taking her, before she came to a decision. Quickly and quietly, she slipped through the door to the acolytes’ dormitories, hoping her terrified heartbeat wouldn’t give her away.</p><p>The halls were dimly lit, but she knew them well and hurried on silent feet to the door to which she had lead Father Vytal only a week ago. She paused outside the door and listened. She could hear nothing but her own nervous breathing. The only sign someone might be in the room was the scent of incense and candles. Carefully, Sweep pushed the door open.</p><p>The room was lit with dim lamps. The pungent incense was close and cloying. Lying upon the bed was Father Vytal, his face a mask of pain and lit from odd angles by the candles. The blankets were pulled up to his chin. Sitting next to the bed, in a comfortable armchair, was an acolyte. The young woman’s chin rested upon her chest and she was breathing softly.</p><p>Sweep closed the door gently and walked silently to the bed, thankful for the rug that muffled her footsteps. She ignored the acolyte and ignored her fear, looking down at Father Vytal. His face seemed paler, thinner, more deeply lined. His breathing was shallow and ragged.</p><p>Sweep slowed her breathing, quieted her thoughts, and tried to empty herself of self. She fought the desire to ask God to heal this kind man. She tried to open herself to the will of the Divine. The tingling buzz was familiar to her now and she welcomed the faint, ghostly chimes. She had always thought these were God’s manifestations and she hoped she was right, that He would look upon her and see her piety and give her what she wanted because she tried so hard not to ask for it.</p><p>A halo of light edged her vision, the faint tintinnabulation swelled in her ears, the buzzing tingle swept through her body. For a moment more, she knew nothing else, and in the next, her surroundings filled her.</p><p>She felt the acolyte, sleeping nearby, peaceful and resting. She felt the rug beneath her feet and the wooden floor beneath that, sturdy and still. She felt the low fire in the fireplace, its heat diffusing throughout the room. But mostly she felt Father Vytal. The aging man was ill; he was having difficulty breathing, and this difficulty was the root of the problem.</p><p>There was a silvery purple light deep within Father Vytal; she saw it in her mind. The light pulsed in time with his heartbeat and swelled to his breathing. And this light, she knew, struggled against the sickness, struggled to heal the man, but the process was stunted. There were black spots throughout, holding it in check.</p><p>“He just needs a little light,” Sweep whispered.</p><p>She imagined adding light to the spots of black, like lighting candles in the sanctuary, one at a time, and she felt the buzzing tingle within stir. It filled her, slowly at first, but increasingly quickly, and she fed it into the black spots, watching as they cracked, spilling light, and burst, allowing Father Vytal’s silvery purple to fill him.</p><p>Father Vytal sat up with a sudden shout. He coughed hard once, twice, thrice. He looked at her, gasping, his eyes bright and clear. Then sighed and lay back down, his face not so pale, not so thinned, not so lined. His eyes drifted closed, and he slept. </p><p>“What have you done?” the acolyte whispered.</p><p>Sweep started and spun to face the acolyte who stood over her, eyes wide and wild. She grabbed Sweep’s upper arm and pushed her toward the door. “Did you put your filthy hands on the Father? Get out, get out!” Her whisper became a desperate shout.</p><p>Sweep pulled free of the acolyte’s painful grip and turned to the door but before she could get there, she heard the distinctive stride of the Mother Superior and her body froze. A moment later, the door was opened and the Mother came in, face narrowed in anger.</p><p>“What,” she began to demand, but the sentence went unfinished. Instead, she looked at Sweep and shook with fury. The blankets she held dropped to the floor and she grabbed Sweep by the hair.</p><p>“I found her touching Father Vytal,” the acolyte said helpfully.</p><p>The Mother Superior didn’t look at the acolyte. “And how did she enter in the first place, Caroline? Did you abandon your watch?”</p><p>“N-no,” the acolyte stammered and said nothing more.</p><p>But the Mother’s focus was on Sweep. She strode from the room, her grip on Sweep’s hair keeping the girl firmly at her side. Sweep considered struggling, but even if she managed to escape the Mother’s grip, even if she tore her hair out to do so, there was nowhere to go, nowhere to run. And with that, fear killed all other thought.</p><p>The Mother Superior’s private rooms were well lit and warmed by a fire in a large, ornate fireplace. Small, delicate figurines lined the mantle. Thick tapestries hung on the walls. A plush couch stood in the center of the room with a pair of thick arm chairs. Sweep noted the details passively.</p><p>There were two acolytes Sweep didn’t know sitting at a work table in one corner, mending clothes. They looked up when the Mother and Sweep came in.</p><p>“Out,” she snapped at them.</p><p>The acolytes hurried to obey, leaving their work on the table and without bothering to bow.</p><p>The Mother dragged Sweep to the table where the acolytes had been and pushed her down over the tabletop. Sweep stayed where she’d been put, too frightened to do anything else, closing her eyes to stop the tears and clenching her hands to stop the shaking.</p><p>At the first blow across her back, she gasped and jerked forward into the table. At the second, she tried desperately not to cry out. At the third, all she knew was the pain, and, instinctively, she escaped it. She controlled her thoughts, felt the tingly buzz, and entered the room in her mind. Immediately, the pain was muted. It did not disappear completely, she knew the beating continued, she was aware of it in the same way she was aware of birdsong in the laundry yard when focused on washing clothes, or of the candles in the sanctuary during evening sermon; she was aware of it, but could ignore it.</p><p>The room in her mind was comfortable in its familiarity: bookshelf, chair, desk, chessboard. For several moments that might have been days or decades, she stood there, her shoulders hunched, her head bowed, trying not to think about what was happening to her. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t not think about it, and she realized that, here, in the room in her mind, she didn’t know what was happening. The Mother might be killing her and she wouldn’t know. She had escaped the pain, but not the beating.</p><p>Sweep closed her eyes, clenched her fists and took a deep, shuddering breath. In the next moment she willed her mind back to her body and screamed. She had been beaten from shoulders to knees.</p><p>Her scream must have startled the Mother because another blow did not land. Instead, there was pounding at the door then angry conversation.</p><p>With tremendous effort, Sweep pushed from the table, to her feet, and turned to see what was happening. The Mother Superior stood at her doorway, a length of dark brown cord hanging from her fist. Her normally immaculate hair had come loose from its bun and her face shone with sweat. In the doorway, two sisters stood, Sister Clarice argued with the Mother. The other sister, Sister Jayne, looked at Sweep with unconcealed shock. Sweep focused on keeping the pain at bay lest she collapse in a heap of shaking, wailing tears.</p><p>Sweep knew she had to leave. Whatever else happened, she knew with utter conviction that she needed to leave the Mother’s chambers right now. Carefully, she put one foot in front of the other, ignoring the pain lancing up and down her back, and walked stiffly to the door.</p><p>Sister Clarice cut off the conversation to look at Sweep and this brought her to the Mother’s attention as well. Normally the Mother’s attention would have induced a cringe or a flinch, but Sweep found herself meeting the Mother’s gaze.</p><p>“Pardon me, Mother.” She nodded painfully to the Mother then turned to look at Sister Clarice and Jayne. “Sisters.” She nodded at them as well. And she left the Mother’s chambers, the older women moving to allow her to pass.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 03</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Sweep walked to her room without thinking too hard about the pain threatening to overwhelm her, ignoring the stares, gasps, and whispers of those few still in the halls. But upon entering the room she shared with Temperance, her friend screamed, short and sharp, and Sweep could no longer ignore it. She dropped to her knees, taking a deep, shuddering breath, as her thoughts shattered to shards of pain.</p><p>Temperance undressed her, pulling the drab, grey dress off over her head. It was stuck to her back in several spots where she’d bled through the material, and when Temperance pulled it free, the sharp sensation was enough to steal her breath.</p><p>Temperance helped Sweep to the bed, where she collapsed, gasping and sobbing and shaking.</p><p>Behind the trunk storing their clothes was a loose stone in the wall and behind the loose stone was a little hollow. They had discovered it when they were children and imagined that some orphans who’d shared this room before them had created it to hide personal treasures.</p><p>Temperance moved the trunk and the loose stone and retrieved a small, earthenware pot they’d filched years ago. The pot was filled with an ointment Temperance mixed on nights when she couldn’t sleep, an ointment she’d learned to mix because Sweep was so often beaten; it numbed pain and reduced swelling. But on this night, the ointment ran out before the pain did.</p><p>Temperance refused to go to bed. She sat at Sweep’s bedside and cried over her. At Sweep’s request, she described the welts and bruises between shuddering breaths. </p><p>Once, a few years ago, Sweep had asked Temperance to trace the scar lines covering her back because she had wanted to know where they were. She’d lain upon her bed, much as she did now, and Temperance had done so with cool if trembling fingers. Sweep wondered how many new scars would be added to the pattern after her back healed.</p><p>Several hours later, after Temperance had cried herself to sleep at Sweep’s bedside, Sweep still couldn’t sleep. The burn and ache jerked her awake every time she started to drift off. She’d tried to slip to the room in her mind, but she couldn’t concentrate. The comforting chimes wouldn’t come.</p><p>The night passed in measured, jaw-clenching throbs.</p><p>“Piety?”</p><p>Sweep appreciated that Temperance still called her Piety. Even though the Mother had given her the name, Sweep liked it. It reminded her that, despite the Mother’s hypocrisy and anger and abuse, the Eight Saints taught love and forgiveness and acceptance. And it reminded her that, though everyone called her Sweep, though she even called herself Sweep, Temperance thought of her as more than just a body to do a chore.</p><p>“I’m fine, Temperance.”</p><p>“No, you’re not.” Temperance’s voice was harsh, evidence of last night’s crying. In fact, Sweep thought Temperance had probably cried more than she had.</p><p>“No,” Sweep agreed, “I suppose I’m not. Do you think it’s morning yet?”</p><p>“Pretty close.”</p><p>Sweep heard Temperance shifting around then fumbling for the candle and a match. When she had the candle lit, Temperance sat next to Sweep’s bed. Sweep blinked against the sudden light but otherwise didn’t move. Just the thought of moving was painful.</p><p>“Do you think you can heal yourself now?” Temperance asked.</p><p>Temperance had wanted to know what had prompted the beating, so Sweep had told her about how she had prayed at Father Vytal’s side, about the silvery purple light within him and the black splotches. Temperance, already convinced Sweep was special, had declared Sweep possessed healing power.</p><p>Sweep didn’t know what to believe, but she knew she couldn’t concentrate.</p><p>“It’s all I can do to keep still.”</p><p>“Oh, Piety, we’ve got to get you away from here.”</p><p>Sweep started and the movement made her wince and hiss. She had not expected Temperance to suggest running away.</p><p>“Are you serious?”</p><p>Temperance nodded, and the movement loosed silent tears. “The Mother is getting angrier. What if she does this again? What if she does worse?”</p><p>“But where would I go?” asked Sweep. “No one in the valley would take me on. I’m obviously an orphan; they’d just give me back to the Mother. I don’t have any way to travel. I have no money. I wouldn’t even know how to live off the land.”</p><p>“We could hire on with a traveling merchant,” Temperance replied. “We could trade services for travel; we could clean and mend and cook… well, I could cook. We could go to a city, there’s always work in a city, and then we could save money.”</p><p>Sweep was nonplussed. She’d dreamed of leaving, of course, but she’d always thought it would be on her sixteenth founday. She’d never considered running away. “How long have you been planning this?”</p><p>Temperance shrugged. “Since forever, I guess.”</p><p>“And you’d come with me? The Mother doesn’t hate you the way she hates me.”</p><p>“I couldn’t let you go on your own. You’d starve without someone to cook for you.”</p><p>Sweep laughed a little and weathered the pain.</p><p>“Besides I don’t like being here any more than you do. I think we could make it.”</p><p>Sweep took a deep breath and tried to still her nerves. Running away from the orphanage was a terrifying notion, but Temperance made it sound possible. The life of an orphan after being discharged wasn’t encouraging, most found work as laborers in the valley. Those who left the valley were never heard from again. At least, that’s what the Mother told them.</p><p>“I’m in no condition to do any running right now,” Sweep said. “But…”</p><p>“I don’t think we have time to wait,” Temperance cut her off. “I think we need to leave soon. Tonight. I overheard one of the sisters yesterday, there’s a merchant in Appledel, at the inn, and he’s leaving tomorrow morning. We should go with him.”</p><p>“Are you sure he’ll take us?”</p><p>“Probably,” Temperance said. “If he doesn’t, we can walk until another merchant passes, and ask him.”</p><p>“Are you sure we have to leave now? Maybe the Mother has calmed down.”</p><p>Temperance shook her head and a few more tears trailed down her cheeks. “If you could see your back, you wouldn’t say that.”</p><p>Sweep could think of no way to respond, and Temperance fell silent.</p><p>After a while, Sweep said, “Well, if we’re going to run away tonight, we’ll need to act normal today.” She started to get to her feet, but Temperance put a hand on her back and even that small touch sent a stab a pain through her.</p><p>“Sorry,” Temperance apologized quickly. “You shouldn’t move.”</p><p>“Temperance, if I can’t move, how can I run away?”</p><p>“Rest,” Temperance replied, “Try to heal yourself. I’ll tell Sister Clarice you’re ill.”</p><p>“Do you really think she’ll let me off because the Mother saw fit to beat me?”</p><p>“Once she gets a good look at your back she will.”</p><p>Temperance stood and changed from her nightdress to the grey orphan’s dress. “I’ll come check on you as much as I can.” She brushed a kiss on Sweep’s cheek, and went for the door, but Sweep stopped her.</p><p>“Temperance? If we leave… I’ve always wondered about the purple-eyed woman.”</p><p>“The one from your dreams?”</p><p>“Yes. I think she’s real. I’m certain of it. She knew me. I think she could tell me where I come from. If we run away, could we maybe try to find her?”</p><p>From her place by the door, Temperance nodded. “Sure. Try to get some sleep, Piety.”</p><p>Once Temperance was gone, Sweep felt anxious, like there was something she was supposed to be doing. She considered getting up and attending her chores and lessons as normal, but when she tried to move, the pain forced her back down. So she lay still and tried to figure out what she would tell Sister Clarice when she arrived, or whoever Sister Clarice sent. She tried not to consider the situation should the Mother Superior decide to visit.</p><p>After a while, she closed her eyes.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>She balanced upon the wind, her expansive wings keeping her aloft over the endless grey-blue ocean stretching to the sky at a hazy horizon. The ocean in her ears and air under her wings and the salt on her tongue called to her, encouraging her to never go back.</p><p>And she stood in a shadow-dark forest, clad in shade and armed with vengeance. Her enemy lurked in those shadows, not realizing that they belonged to her, moved at her command, and would not protect him.</p><p>And she sat on a throne of light overlooking the field of battle, checkered in light and shadow, under a storm-tossed sky.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Sweep snapped from sleep with the vague sensation she’d been thinking about something important, but unable to recall it. She blinked at Temperance who knelt by her bed, bundled against cold and bearing a pack strapped to her back.</p><p>“What?” Sleep fuzzed Sweep’s thoughts.</p><p>“We have to go. Now. There’s a fight. I don’t know what about, but the Mother is raving in the refectory. If she gets it in her mind to punish someone…”</p><p>That was enough to convince Sweep. She pushed herself into a sitting position. Her body still ached, but sleeping seemed to have helped. At least, she could move. Even so, she had to move slowly and she spent several minutes getting dressed in the layers of clothing Temperance insisted upon. Briefly, Sweep felt bad about the theft, but practicality asserted itself; if they were running away on a winter night, even late winter, they’d need extra clothes. Besides, the Mother had already extracted a stiff price.</p><p>Finally, she let Temperance slip the straps of a pack over her shoulders and secure it across her chest. Initially, the pack awoke the agony in Sweep’s back, but after a few moments and some deep breaths, the pain receded to an ache.</p><p>“Ready?”</p><p>Sweep laughed and shook her head. “Not at all.”</p><p>Temperance smiled at her, small and tight. “Good. Let’s go.”</p><p>Temperance led the way through the dark hallways. Sweep tried to imagine how they would escape. If there was a fight, how would they avoid it? Would they leave through the acolyte’s entrance? The sanctuary? Perhaps they would slip out a window? But Temperance led her to the laundry yard door, and Sweep remembered the narrow gate with the wooden latch.</p><p>The laundry yard was a bitter slick of ice. Trampled snow packed into crusty ridges melded with smooth planes where laundry water had slopped over the sides of the copper tubs. The laundry yard was never pleasant; too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter, and always miserably humid, but on this lightless night, with her body in throbbing agony, each step was treacherous, each movement liable to send her sprawling. If she fell, Sweep was certain she’d be unable to get up again.</p><p>“Almost there,” Temperance kept whispering, “almost there.”</p><p>Sweep didn’t bother looking for the tiny gate in the shadows. Instead, she kept her head down and her weight on Temperance’s shoulder. She let Temperance’s reassurance sooth her, though she knew that “almost there” was only a step closer than it had been before, and “before” felt hours gone. All the while, someone might open the door on the laundry yard and they’d be caught. Sweep decided if that happened, she’d urge Temperance to run, to get away.</p><p>When they finally reached the gate, Sweep didn’t fight the tears of relief though they froze on her cheeks. She and Temperance fumbled around in the dark until they found the rude wooden latch.</p><p>“I was beginning to think we’d imagined it,” Sweep whispered.</p><p>She made her cold-clumsy fingers wrap around it, Temperance’s fingers wrapped around hers, and together they pulled.</p><p>The treacherous ground slid under her feet. Only her hold on the door keep Sweep upright. Her muscles tensed and shrieked. Beside her, Temperance fell to her knees with a crack.</p><p>But her weight on the latch opened the gate and it swung into the yard.</p><p>“Hurry,” gasped Temperance. “Someone is sure to have heard.”</p><p>Sweep stepped through the gate to the frozen ruts of mud in the dark alleyway beyond. Behind her, she heard Temperance groaning to her feet and soon felt her presence.</p><p>“Did I yell?” Sweep whispered. The bruises and raw wounds along her back throbbed in time with the beating of her heart. The throbbing made her head pound. She felt ill.</p><p>“It doesn’t matter,” said Temperance. “We’re out now. Just don’t stop.”</p><p>But within a few steps, Sweep’s stomach clenched and her vision splintered into shards of light and pain. She retched, bracing herself against the outside of the laundry yard fence. Only spittle and bile resulted. She’d never been grateful to have missed meals before. She heaved a few times, then spat. Sweat froze on her skin while Temperance rubbed her arm gently and she tried to breath steadily.</p><p>The opening of the door beyond the fence froze them both.</p><p>A coppery fear flooded Sweep.</p><p>“Who’s out there?”</p><p>Sweep recognized the voice of one of the young sisters, though she couldn’t recall her name.</p><p>“Can you walk?” Temperance’s whisper was barely audible.</p><p>Sweep nodded carefully, and together they walked down the dark alleyway, Temperance limping.</p><p>They heard the sister mutter as she picked her way across the frozen yard.</p><p>“Don’t stop.”</p><p>Sweep wasn’t sure whether it was her or Temperance whispering the encouragement. Tears made her vision blurry.</p><p>Suddenly, the way ahead was lit from behind. Their shadows stretched before them. Sweep could see the end of the alley where it met the cobbles of the street, only steps away. And from there, a corner around which they could hide. But they’d been seen.</p><p>“Don’t stop.”</p><p>Sweep and Temperance scrambled against their fear and rounded the corner. There was a tense, awkward moment when Temperance went right and Sweep went left. But Sweep stumbled and as Temperance caught her they went left together.</p><p>The lantern light continued to shine down the alleyway for several moments.</p><p>“Drunken whores!” the sister shouted. “The Mother told you to stay away from the church.”</p><p>“Don’t stop.”</p><p>Sweep took a shuddering, stumbling step down the street, still clutching Temperance’s hand. Together they took a second and a third, quickening as they walked away from Sacred Heart.</p><p>Sweep expected that at any moment they’d be caught, that the hand of a sister would descend upon their shoulders. Then would come the blows as they were dragged back to the church and before the Mother Superior. Every gust of wind, every shifting moonshadow was a sister out to get them.</p><p>They hurried down the dark street, staying close to the buildings on their left, made the next turn they came to, and paused. Sweep strained for the sound of pursuit over the thudding of her heart. She heard no such sounds but was unconvinced that pursuit did not come. Soon they were moving again, but quickly they realized that neither of them knew where the inn was. Neither of them had been away from the church, much less to the inn. They paused again to discuss strategy.</p><p>“I think,” said Sweep between labored breaths, “that it’s a couple of streets down from the church.”</p><p>Temperance nodded. “So, where’s the church from here?”</p><p>The girls looked around. The street was dark. The buildings lining the street were unfamiliar. Little outside the church was familiar. Sweep, who had swept the front step of the sanctuary every morning and evening for years, and so had seen the buildings across the street, thought that they looked like shop fronts, but she couldn’t be certain. Not an hour outside the church, only streets away, the runaways were already lost.</p><p>Temperance took a deep breath. “Do you remember the kitchen garden?”</p><p>Sweep shook her head though it was dark.</p><p>“Cook makes us plant in little squares,” Temperance continued. “She uses lengths of cord and rope to make squares a pair of handbreadth’s across. Remember?”</p><p>“Sure.” Sweep said, hesitant, uncertain why her friend was going on about the garden.</p><p>“So, the ropes are like the streets. See, the streets are straight.” She gestured.</p><p>“Oh.” Sweep nodded. “So the planting squares are where the buildings are.”</p><p>“Right. So, if we walk along the streets and we make sure to walk around each square, eventually we’ll come across the street where the inn is.”</p><p>Sweep hugged Temperance as tightly as she could through the layers of clothes and heavy pack.</p><p>“You’re brilliant, Temperance.”</p><p>And though it was slow and nerve-wracking, it was a sound plan. By the time they found the lighted windows of a building proclaiming itself the Apple Blossom Inn, they were exhausted and footsore.</p><p>Sandy-eyed and watery-limbed, Sweep approached the lighted yard and the bustle of activity it contained. Dimly, she wondered how long she and Temperance had been systematically walking along the streets of Appledel, how long it was from dawn, and how many times they had passed this darkened building front and not realized it was the inn.</p><p>The gate to the yard stood open, lit by lanterns casting long shadows that danced and twitched and jumped about madly, lending an air of chaos. She watched the bustle for several moments, numbly, before Temperance nudged her and pointed. She pointed at a tall man with thick moustaches who oversaw it all. In the few moments she watched him, three people stopped to talk to him, and he sent them on further errands. This man was in charge.</p><p>“Well,” said Sweep, dispelling her reservations, “It’s this or go back to the Mother.” She hitched up her pack, ignoring the pain with ease of practice, and walked purposefully through the courtyard, ducking and dodging those running errands. Temperance stayed at her side but let her take the lead.</p><p>“Excuse me, sir?”</p><p>The man did not respond. A woman approached, and he looked at her expectantly.</p><p>“Roger, the young bay has a bruised hoof.”</p><p>“God’s Beard take the stubborn beast,” the man, Roger, cursed. “If he’s not harassing the mares or breaking the picket, he’s stalling our departure. God’s Wounds.”</p><p>The woman made a noncommittal sound. She had the expression of one used to such outbursts and was waiting for it to pass so the business at hand could continue. In a moment of muttered curses, it did.</p><p>“Can we sell the beast?”</p><p>The woman shrugged. “We can, but we still need a second horse to pull the third wagon. Either way, we’ll be traveling slowly until either he heals or we find another horse.”</p><p>The man let loose another stream of curses, and the woman weathered them patiently. Eventually, Roger said. “Is there anything else?”</p><p>“We’re ready to leave.”</p><p>“Finally,” Roger muttered.</p><p>The woman turned her attention then to Sweep and Temperance. Her gaze drew Roger’s attention, and Sweep hesitated. When she had strode across the courtyard, she had gathered her confidence. Now confronted with the man who spewed curses under a thick, black moustache, she was nervous again.</p><p>“What?” Roger demanded.</p><p>“We want to travel,” Sweep said, sticking close to the truth. “We can work. We can sew and clean and cook… well, Temperance can cook.”</p><p>“Bah!” he waved his hand at them. “I have no time for runaways. Go back to your mother. She doesn’t beat you half as hard as I would.”</p><p>Sweep doubted the accuracy of the man’s claim, but after having seen his temperament, did not doubt that he would be a strict and heavy-handed taskmaster. Sweep had hoped the world outside the church would be kinder, contrary to what the Mother claimed. It seemed a foolish hope now.</p><p>Temperance tugged on her sleeve. “Piety, come on, let’s go,” she whispered.</p><p>“Just a moment, girls,” said the woman. “Roger, husband, think on it a moment. We could always use another pair of hands willing to work. Saints know enough of our men are too willing to avoid it.”</p><p>Roger frowned at his wife. “I’ll not take on a pair of runaways. I don’t care if they can make silk from patches, runaways aren’t worth the trouble.”</p><p>The woman frowned right back at him. “You’re not thinking like a businessman. They don’t eat much and are already clothed. They’ll easily make up for their wages.” She smiled down at the girls.</p><p>Sweep was conflicted. Roger was clearly a short-tempered man and he’d already threatened to beat them. But he couldn’t be worse than the Mother, and the woman had mentioned wages. Sweep couldn’t decide if she wanted Roger’s wife to convince him or not. But when the woman smiled down at them, Sweep was struck with a sudden sense of unease.</p><p>“Oh,” Roger said, and he smiled. It was a smile Sweep recognized seeing on the lips of the Mother when she had thought of something particularly cruel. He looked at them “Well, I suppose we might find a place for you after all.”</p><p>“Actually,” said Sweep, “we’ve changed our minds.”</p><p>Roger’s face darkened, but he kept his smile as though it were frozen in place. He reached out to put a hand on Sweep’s shoulder. Sweep jumped back, pulling Temperance with her. The pain of movement was expected, had become a part of her, and she did not wince when it came. The woman, Roger’s wife, sidled around, trying to get behind them. Sweep and Temperance continued backward, angling to keep the woman from their backs.</p><p>“Now, dears, that’s no way to treat your employer,” she said.</p><p>Run for it, Sweep thought desperately.</p><p>As though she’d spoken aloud, Temperance broke into a dash, pulling Sweep behind her. But Sweep stumbled as the sudden movement jabbed pain from her back to her limbs, and she fell almost immediately. Temperance shouted. Sweep pushed to her feet, taking deep breaths and fighting her heaving stomach. With her bearing about her once again, Sweep looked up to find Temperance in the grip of the man called Roger, a trickle of blood evidence of a split lip. Roger’s wife stood behind Sweep with a cruel smile.</p><p>“Pardon me, master merchant, but you’re frightening my apprentices.”</p><p>The voice was deep. It carried across the courtyard and above the racket. It was polite but ominous, calm but commanding. Sweep didn’t dare turn to look at the speaker; she kept her gaze Temperance, still fast in the merchant’s grip, trying to figure out how to free her. Whoever this newcomer was, she’d deal with him once Temperance was free.</p><p>The man who strode into view was Father Vytal. He seemed taller than Sweep remembered and far more menacing. His expression bore none of the kindness she’d seen on the night they’d met. He was clad in a charcoal-colored shirt and pants. A white coat with a high collar and golden scrollwork crawling up the arms was decorated with the scarlet and gold sunburst on either collar. The sunburst amulet hanging at his chest glinted in the light of the lanterns around the courtyard.</p><p>Roger the merchant was so impressed he released Temperance unconsciously. Temperance dashed to Sweep’s side, and together they watched the silent confrontation between cleric and merchant. Around them, the bustle of the courtyard had not abated and Roger’s wife was not in evidence.</p><p>Soon, Roger lowered his eyes, muttered something that was supposed to be respectful, and waded into the milling crowd without a backward glance, shouting orders.</p><p>Father Vytal turned to the girls. Temperance shrank back, but Sweep hoped to see the kind expression she’d been granted a week previous. She took a step forward. When she met his gaze, the grey-haired cleric did smile, just a little.</p><p>“Come girls, let’s get this sorted out.”</p><p>He led them back to the church through the dark streets of Appledel. At the front step, Sweep stopped and squeezed Temperance’s hand. Temperance stopped next to her. Father Vytal was at the front door of the sanctuary before he noticed the girls were no longer following. He looked back at them and raised an eyebrow in question.</p><p>“Yes?”</p><p>“We’re not going back, sir.” Sweep was pleased with the steadiness of her voice.</p><p>Father Vytal stepped off the step and sat upon it, heedless of the cold stone. He smiled though his eyes were sad.</p><p>“I wouldn’t ask you to. I need to do a few things and while I do so, you two should rest, for when I leave, I intend to take you with me. With your permission of course.”</p><p>Stunned, Sweep’s skin felt of pins-and-needles, like when she’d slept all night with her arm at a funny angle. She looked at him and said nothing. Next to her, Temperance stiffened and squeezed her hand. Though their gambit with the merchant had failed, Father Vytal was offering them another way out. She didn’t know what to say next.</p><p>“You don’t trust me, and I don’t blame you,” said Father Vytal. “Perhaps a gesture of good faith is in order?” He held his hand out to Temperance. “May I?”</p><p>Temperance squeezed Sweep’s hand, then let go and approached the well-dressed cleric. She gave a small nod. Father Vytal took her chin in his hand. With a gentle brush of his thumb, he wiped away the dried blood on her chin. Temperance gasped. She put a hand to her lip to find that it was no longer cut nor swollen.</p><p>“Thank you, sir.”</p><p>Father Vytal shook his head. “My name is Tristam, not sir.”</p><p>Temperance bowed. “Yes, sir.”</p><p>Sweep found her voice. “Where would you take us, if we agreed to come with you?”</p><p>Father Vytal stood and brushed at his pants. “To the High Temple in Kinswell. There, you could receive a proper education. Girls, I promise you, I am nothing like Willow. My unsubtle questioning this morning has revealed Willow’s methods of persuasion and discipline and which two orphans are the usual recipients thereof. I won’t allow it to continue.”</p><p>Sweep looked at Temperance who looked back at her. Temperance nodded and Sweep looked back at Father Vytal. “All right. We’ll go with you.”</p><p>“Excellent.” Father Vytal smiled. “I’m afraid your healing, Sweep, will take a bit more effort, and you should not be standing when I do it.” He sighed. “I know you two spent a considerable amount of effort running away, but I ask that you return to your dormitory for a few hours more.”</p><p>“Do you promise?” Sweep asked. “That you’ll take us away from here. That you intend to protect us?”</p><p>The cleric nodded. “I promise.”</p><p>“I mean it,” Sweep said. “You have to promise.”</p><p>“I promise. I mean it.” His expression was grave, the lines of his face deep.</p><p>“Because, it’s hard to know if you’re telling the truth,” Sweep continued. “You seem kind, but…”</p><p>Father Vytal knelt. “I promise you both, I mean you no harm and intend to take you away from this place to somewhere you can learn, prosper, and be happy.”</p><p>Piety felt a weight settle about them, as though his words held power, magic, but at the same time, she felt a burden lift from her thoughts. She knew he meant what he promised.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>The room was as it had been when they’d left it only hours before. Sweep had thought to never see it again. It was disconcerting to return.</p><p>“After I heal Sweep, you two should try to get some rest. It will be dawn in a couple of hours and I want to leave at first light.”</p><p>“But what if someone comes?” asked Sweep.</p><p>“No one will come. I’ll see to it.” He laid a hand gently on her forehead. His hand was cool and dry. “Now, this won’t hurt, but it might be a bit of a shock.”</p><p>She felt Father Vytal suddenly buzz with power, and the faint chimes sounded as though across a large, empty room. Then that power flowed into her. Fortunately, it didn’t come all at once. Slowly, the searing pain she’d put in the back of her mind cooled and faded. By the time Father Vytal was finished, Sweep was shivering and exhausted, lying face down on the bed, still bundled in several layers of clothes with a pack strapped to her back. Her back itched, but she couldn’t summon the strength to do anything about it.</p><p>Father Vytal was speaking. “She needs warmth and rest. You’ll watch over her?”</p><p>“Yes, sir.”</p><p>“Good. I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“Yes, Temperance?”</p><p>“Why?”</p><p>Father Vytal paused several moments. “There are many reasons. A friend once told me that I do my best work while teaching young people. I haven’t had an apprentice for nearly a decade.”</p><p>“Why us and not any of the others?”</p><p>“There’s something special about the two of you. I don’t know what it is, but I can feel it.”</p><p>“But what about everyone else? If we just leave them here…”</p><p>Their conversation faded, as though they walked quickly down a long tunnel. Sweep didn’t hear if Temperance continued to question him because oblivion rose to claim her.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>As she dressed again, she became more alert, even energized. Her back held only a dull ache, and she reveled in being able to bend and twist as she dressed. The knowledge that Father Vytal stood just outside the curtain, ready to take them away to Kinswell, made her at once hurry to prepare and savor the moment.</p><p>When they were both ready, Sweep pushed aside the curtain.</p><p>Father Vytal had changed from the formal clothes and fancy. Now he was in workman’s leather pants and a cotton shirt with a heavy coat bundled on the pack at his back. His sunburst amulet rested against his chest from a simple leather cord. He wore his confidence and authority like a familiar cloak.</p><p>Sweep bowed and folded her hands at her waist. “Sir, thank you for healing me.”</p><p>Father Vytal made a pained noise. “Please don’t bow at me like that, Sweep.”</p><p>Confused, Sweep risked a glance at Temperance who seemed equally confused.</p><p>“Sorry, sir. How should I bow to you?”</p><p>Father Vytal shook his head. “You shouldn’t bow to me at all. I am not your master; I am not better or greater than you are. We are both people and we should be able to meet each other as equals.”</p><p>“But, Father Vytal, you healed me.”</p><p>“As you healed me, Sister Sweep.”</p><p>Sweep felt her fingers and toes go tingly and numb with shock. She heard Temperance gasp. Father Vytal had called her Sister, like she was a Daughter of God, and he claimed that she had healed him with a quiet certainty she couldn’t dispute. Her heart pounded in her ears and her cheeks went warm with the strangeness of it. Everything she’d been taught about the way of things, the way people related to one another, this man, this Son of God, was overtly rejecting. She looked at the sunburst resting on his chest just to make sure it was still there, for his words sounded like heresy.</p><p>“The Scriptures tell the stories of the Saints. You know them?” he asked.</p><p>“Yes sir.”</p><p>Father Vytal smiled, banishing the pained expression. “Many would have you believe that the Children of God, those sworn to His service, are born to a higher calling. But the teachings of the Saints tell us that no man is higher than any other. Saint Mary the Servant said, ‘Choice and deed set us apart. No one is born to greatness.’”</p><p>Sweep nodded. “But Saint Mary also said ‘Honor wisdom and kindness, for they are precious.’ We have understood that the Mother is wrong about nearly everything, and we had hoped that the world would not be as cruel as she claimed. You, I think, bear out that hope, sir.”</p><p>It took several moments and a deep breath before Father Vytal said, “Well. I am impressed.”</p><p>Sweep bowed. “Thank you, sir.” Temperance followed her lead.</p><p>“I’m not going to break you of that habit, am I?”</p><p>Sweep gave it a little thought. “No sir, I suppose you aren’t.”</p><p>Temperance nodded.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>The Mother’s chambers were hot after the cold of the dormitory. Sweep stood next to Temperance, the two holding hands so hard it hurt but neither willing to release the other. Between them and the Mother was Father Vytal, and the two argued.</p><p> “You’re a foolish, addled old man chasing dreams and myths. You can’t even take care of yourself. What makes you think you can take care of a little girl, much less two of them? What are you going to do, take them trekking across the nation with you? What kind of life is that for a girl? And what about their education?”</p><p>The seven-hour bell rang, permeating the walls of Sacred Heart, and Father Vytal took the opportunity to interject.</p><p>“Willow, why are you so angry with me? What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?”</p><p>“You disrespect me by ignoring my title.”</p><p>“To me, you’ll always be Willow.”</p><p>“And that’s just it… Tristam. You’ve never thought I was good enough.”</p><p>“A title is not a measure of a person’s worth.”</p><p>“And what of a name? What of my name?”</p><p>Father Vytal shook his head. “This is because your mother named you Willow?”</p><p>“And you let her.”</p><p>Sweep glanced at Temperance, who looked just as confused as she felt.</p><p>The Mother Superior drew herself up, and her expression turned hard. “You cannot have them, Father.”</p><p>Father Vytal shook his head. “Willow, if it’s a question of authority, you don’t have any. If it’s a question of force, I will win. If it’s a question of right and wrong, I’m right, and you’re wrong. And what’s more, Willow, you know it.”</p><p>The Mother Superior stood with her mouth open, prepared to continue shouting, but no words came out. Her eyes widened considerably. The sudden silence, where before there had been anger, made Sweep aware of small sounds: the guttering of candles, muffled footsteps, and the muted babble of conversation far away.</p><p>“We’re leaving, Willow. Furthermore, you are under review. I’d always wondered how you’d gained this position. I suspected you traded on our shared name. Had I known what you’d used it for…” He shook his head again. “I’ll be sending a note on to Kinswell, detailing the abuses I’ve seen here.” Father Vytal turned and gestured to the girls to precede him from the room, but the Mother wasn’t finished.</p><p>“I demand compensation. If you’re taking two of my best workers and several valuable supplies, I demand compensation.”</p><p>Just before Father Vytal spun back to face the Mother, the girls saw his expression turn angry and frightening.</p><p>“Are you suggesting I buy them?” he demanded. “Slavery is illegal in Khulanty, Willow. And the supplies are property of the Church, whose council I’m a member of, as you well know. You should be ashamed. I saw the state of this girl’s back. There are scars. The only reason she can walk is because I healed her. If this is how you treat your best, I fear for the least of your congregation.”</p><p>The Mother took a step back, but was undeterred. “So that’s it then? You’ll spirit away two little girls to only God knows where over my explicit objections?”</p><p>There was so much he could have said. Sweep could see the set of his shoulders tense as though preparing to continue. But then he relaxed and said, simply, “Yes.”</p><p>The Mother Superior turned away. “Be gone then. You have overstayed your welcome, Father.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 04</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Before the toll of eight-hour, Father Vytal and his two new apprentices left Appledel. The cold of late winter nipped about their faces, but the hoods of their coats, their stout boots, thick stockings, and fur lined gloves kept them warm. They followed the hard-packed earthen road on the north side of the Middle River, which was banked with ice and flowed pacifically into the farm-rich plain of Khulanty in the east. Behind them, the Western Mountains stretched to the sky. To the north and south, the mountains of the Valley of Three Rivers embraced them.</p><p>A sparse wood of thin, white-barked trees, bared of leaves by winter's cold, stretched away from either bank of the river. The road was cleared of trees and paved with well-fitted, smooth stones. Winter-brown grass and hardy bushes scattered among the wood. A few patches of snow dotted that wood, but most had melted away in the late winter rains. The air was cold, but the sky was clear, threatening neither rain nor snow.</p><p>With Appledel behind, Father Vytal asked them about the Scriptures and the Saints.</p><p>"Saint Lucius is my favorite," Sweep said. "He always tried to be fair and just to everyone."</p><p>"But people hated him for it," Father Vytal countered. "Saint Lucius was exiled."</p><p>Sweep nodded. "Because the governors only wanted what benefited them. They weren't concerned with actual justice."</p><p>"And how would you define "justice"?"</p><p>Sweep looked a question at Temperance who shrugged.</p><p>"I don't understand, sir."</p><p>"I'm asking you to tell me what justice is."</p><p>"Well..."</p><p>For Sweep, the concept of justice seemed too obvious to define, making it hard to articulate. She thought about the Stories of Saint Lucius, searching for help.</p><p>"Well, it's... fairness. It's making sure everyone is treated equally. Like in Saint Lucius' first story, when he was young: if a poor person breaks the law, and if a rich person breaks the same law, they're both punished the same."</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. "Good example. But consider two farmers who each own a plot of land of the same size. The first farmer works hard all year long and brings in a healthy crop, but the second farmer is lazy and brings in no crop at all. If we must treat them equally, as you said, then the hard working farmer should give half his crop to the lazy farmer."</p><p>Sweep frowned. "No."</p><p>"Why not?" asked Father Vytal.</p><p>"Because the lazy farmer didn't do anything to earn it. It's not fair to the one who worked hard. Treating them equally would be letting them each have the benefits of their work: crops for the hard-working farmer, none for the lazy farmer."</p><p>"So we should punish laziness with starvation?"</p><p>Sweep didn't know how to reply. That wasn't at all what she'd meant.</p><p>"Or perhaps we should amend your definition of justice?" Father Vytal continued.</p><p>Sweep nodded. "All right. So, justice is treating people the same so long as they work for it?"</p><p>Father Vytal shrugged. "Maybe. But consider the child who was born with a twisted leg and can't walk. Should we deny him food just because he can't work in the field?"</p><p>Sweep found herself frowning again. "No," she said, "That's not fair either. I guess justice is... well... I don't know."</p><p>"It's not easy to define," agreed Father Vytal.</p><p>"Then how do we achieve it?"</p><p>"Achieving a proper definition requires no small amount of thought. I find myself often amending how I define my world, even at so advanced an age." Father Vytal stroked his beard thoughtfully.</p><p>Sweep blushed. "I meant justice. How do we achieve justice?"</p><p>"Ah." Father Vytal smiled, and Sweep wondered if he'd been teasing her. "In Khulanty we choose judges who've studied the law, and those judges hear individual cases and then, much like Saint Lucius, they try to be fair. The law tends to side with those who work for their share, but won't let people starve when it's within its power to do so."</p><p>"What if the judge is like the Mother?" asked Temperance.</p><p>Sweep smiled at her. During lessons at Sacred Heart, Sweep had occasionally asked questions of Sister Jayne and was often spanked for it. Temperance had never asked a question.</p><p>Father Vytal frowned but nodded. "Quick to see the flaw. Well done, Temperance. Corrupt judges do exist, which is why they're overseen by nobles, who must answer to the royal."</p><p>"And what if the royal is corrupt?"</p><p>"Indeed. Ostensibly, the Royal must answer to the people. That's what the First Royal intended."</p><p>After a while, Sweep said, "Justice is more complicated than I thought."</p><p>Father Vytal nodded.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>When the sun began to set, Father Vytal led them off the road and showed them how to set up a tent, make a campfire, and cook dinner without a kitchen.</p><p>"I suppose neither of you has traveled cross country before?" he said.</p><p>Both girls shook their heads.</p><p>Father Vytal sighed. "Of course not. Well, it's still winter, so we'll not be camping often, but in a few weeks, when spring comes, we'll sleep beneath the sky and I'll show you how to tell position and direction using the stars."</p><p>Sweep and Temperance looked at each other and shared a small smile.</p><p>"I am sorry about having to sleep outside in winter," Father Vytal went on. "It's going to be cold tonight."</p><p>Sweep shrugged. "Winter nights are always cold."</p><p>Throughout the preparation of camp, Sweep carefully avoided helping with the cooking. She paid close attention to the way Father Vytal threaded the bendy wooden poles in the cleverly crafted oilskin canvas and then staked them into the hard, cold ground to create two little tents. She helped gather firewood, of which there was plenty in the woods. She even took interest in the necessary details of digging a latrine. But when Temperance and Father Vytal began to boil water and portion out dried meat rations, she kept her hands to herself.</p><p>Her non-involvement with the cooking did not go unnoticed and did not last. Eventually, Father Vytal handed her a mortar and pestle and a cloth bag that smelled strongly of herbs.</p><p>"Sweep, grind some of this for me please."</p><p>Warily, Sweep reached for the items.</p><p>"Actually, sir," said Temperance, "I'll do that."</p><p>Father Vytal looked at them both, a single brow raised in question. "Is there something I'm missing?"</p><p>Sweep gave a small shrug. "I'm bad at cooking."</p><p>Temperance was quick to clarify. "It's not just that, sir. Anything she has to do with cooking, anything at all, goes terribly wrong." She looked at Sweep apologetically, but Sweep nodded. "There was one time she was only supposed to put water on the stove to boil and the pot cracked."</p><p>Father Vytal looked perplexed. "And you think it was Sweep's fault?"</p><p>Temperance shrugged. "For anyone else, I'd say no, but something goes wrong every time she has anything to do with preparing a meal."</p><p>"I can wash dishes without a problem though," said Sweep hurriedly, not wanting Father Vytal to think she was trying get out of work.</p><p>Father Vytal chuckled and held the items out to Sweep again. "Crushing herbs should be foolproof."</p><p>Sweep took the mortar and pestle and bag of herbs carefully. She crushed the herbs, making sure to not drop anything. She added the resulting powder to the bubbling stew at Father Vytal's direction. When nothing broke, nothing was spilled, Sweep sighed with relief.</p><p>The stew, however, was overly herby.</p><p>It wasn't inedible, it wasn't even horrible. In fact, for the orphans, who had only ever had watery soup, sometimes lightly salted, and porridge, never with milk, it was wonderful. But it was definitely overly herby.</p><p>They ate silently until Father Vytal fixed them with a rueful grin. "It was my fault," he told them, "I put too much herbs in the pestle."</p><p>"Yes, sir." But Sweep and Temperance looked at each other knowingly</p><p>They put out the fire and retired to their tents soon thereafter, each armed with a small canvas bag filled with uncooked beans that had warmed next to the fire. Sweep and Temperance shared a tent, a fact they assured Father Vytal they were comfortable with. Snuggled together under four blankets, they were plenty warm and much too excited to go to sleep right away. Instead, they stared at the darkness above them and whispered together.</p><p>"Just imagine," said Temperance. "No more kitchen duty or laundry duty. All the cleaning and mending we do will be for ourselves instead of pampered rich girls."</p><p>"Yeah," replied Sweep. "No more sweeping." She couldn't help sounding wistful; she had enjoyed sweeping. Fortunately, Temperance didn't seem to notice.</p><p>"And no more Mother Superior," Temperance added. "It doesn't seem real does it? We don't have to be afraid of her anymore."</p><p>Temperance hugged Sweep, and Sweep returned the embrace.</p><p>"I really thought one day she might start beating you and never stop. I've been afraid of that for... for years."</p><p>"I didn't realize it was that bad. I knew she hated me but..."</p><p>"If you'd ever seen the look in her eyes while she hit you, you'd have known. I'm sure the others saw it, but no one ever said so."</p><p>Sweep released Temperance so she could see her face. "Thanks for watching out for me, Temperance."</p><p>"Of course I'm going to watch out for you. We're... we're sisters."</p><p>They hugged again.</p><p>"What do you think of Father Vytal?" Sweep asked.</p><p>"He seems nice enough," Temperance replied. "And he's an amazing teacher, isn't he? It's like he teaches without knowing it. He just talks, and it all makes so much sense. I've learned more about the history of Khulanty today than in the last year."</p><p>"And the Scriptures," added Sweep. "He thinks about them in a way I would never have considered."</p><p>They whispered on into the night until there was nothing more to say, and then they stared, silently, into the darkness until sleep overtook them.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Sweep awoke with dreams of purple eyes fading to the back of memory.</p><p>Faint light penetrated the canvas walls of the tent, and she could see her breath on the air. For several moments she simply lay there, remembering Temperance's words the night before; they no longer need fear the Mother Superior. They were out of reach. The Mother no longer mattered. Just thinking the thought made her afraid, like the Mother might hear, and try though she might, Sweep couldn't dispel it.</p><p>Once up, Father Vytal stoked the banked coals into a small, merry fire, then showed them how to break camp. Breakfast was hot tea and warmed flatbread and a bit of dried fruit, and soon they were on their way again.</p><p>Sweep found her back was still stiff from the Mother's ministrations, but Father Vytal's healing powers had done in seconds what would have taken her body weeks to do on its own, and she looked forward to the walk.</p><p>The second day passed much as the first had; the three of them walked along the road and Father Vytal talked to them about whatever was on his mind. He knew a lot about a variety of subjects and when there was something he didn't know, he admitted it. Sister Jayne had never admitted to not knowing something.</p><p>He started by describing the environment of a high scrubland and the importance of the rivers. He told them about the rolling plains they would enter as they made their way out of the Three Rivers Valley, and about how the rivers for which the valley was named joined into the Grand River. He regaled them with the stories and histories of the noble families who managed the lands and for whom the provinces: Ceres, Iz, Shannon, Kempenny, Mineres, and Loreamer were named. He explained that each province in the nation of Khulanty was further divided into counties, each also named for a noble family. He continued to ask them questions about the Scriptures, which stories they'd read and which they liked and why.</p><p>And that night, he again assigned Sweep a duty connected to cooking, which Sweep took without complaint, but with a meaningful look at Temperance.</p><p>Carefully, Sweep peeled small, wrinkly potatoes, depositing the skins in a small earthenware bowl. She then cut the potatoes into slices and dropped them into the warming water. She was nearly done when the small knife slipped and bit deep into the area between thumb and forefinger of her right hand. With a squeal of pain, she let go of both knife and potato. The potato fell to the ground. The knife remained stuck in her hand.</p><p>The pain was different than that of a beating. It was deep; it radiated along her arm to her shoulder, tensed her neck and made her teeth ache. Her heart raced, and her breath went shallow.</p><p>Father Vytal took hold of her wrist in one hand and the knife in the other.</p><p>"My apologies, Sweep, this will probably hurt a bit."</p><p>He pulled the knife out of her hand in a quick, smooth motion, and the bite of pain was immediately swallowed by the caress of healing.</p><p>"Oh," she said. "How... how do you do that? It's magic, right?"</p><p>He smiled at her. "I think you know."</p><p>Sweep shook her head.</p><p>"What did you do when you healed me?" he persisted.</p><p>"I..." Sweep hesitated. He'd said that she healed him back at Sacred Heart, but part of her just couldn't believe it. "Are you sure I... that you didn't do it yourself?"</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. "I was more ill than I'd thought. I had a fever that interfered with my concentration, and that incense they were burning made me slow-witted and sleepy. I am certain you healed me."</p><p>Sweep blushed and looked away and shrugged. "I don't really know what I did. Can you show me how?"</p><p>"I would be remiss if I did not. I had thought to start once we could settle in for a few days, but if you're ready now..." He laughed at Sweep's enthusiastic nod.</p><p>"The trick is to construct a place in your consciousness, a mindspace, a sort of mental room, where you can come and go as quick as thought. The room will be a place of calm and concentration, and from that space you can access your power as easily as breathing, with all the time in the world."</p><p>Temperance laughed drawing their attention. "She already knows how to do that one," she said to Father Vytal. She smiled at Sweep. "Didn't I tell you you're special?"</p><p>Sweep blushed again.</p><p>"I'll finish dinner," Temperance continued. "You two talk about powers."</p><p>Father Vytal nodded graciously.</p><p>"If you already know about the mindspace, tell me what else you know. What was it like when you healed me?"</p><p>Sweep told him about the tingle along her skin and the chimes at the edge of hearing. She told him about the silvery purple light she'd seen in him and about adding power to the black splotches. She told him about dancing among the rainclouds.</p><p>"And don't forget that time you glowed," Temperance said. "The first day I met you."</p><p>"Oh yeah. I forget about that."</p><p>Father Vytal sat in silence, staring past her at the darkness. Temperance fiddled with the food. The crack of the fire and the smell of dinner and the movement of animals around camp were all amplified by his silence. Sweep worried that she'd upset him.</p><p>"All that without training," he said. "Well then, we must, indeed, start immediately. I realize you're already familiar with the mindspace, but we should start from the beginning, and we should take it slowly."</p><p>They sat next to each other, legs crossed, eyes closed.</p><p>"Breathe evenly, in through your nose, out through your mouth. Rest the tip of your tongue on the roof of your mouth. Relax your eyes, your jaw, your neck, your shoulders. Let go of your thoughts, your anxieties, your desires. Empty yourself."</p><p>"Like Saint Weston," Sweep said.</p><p>"Yes. Very good."</p><p>They meditated until Temperance told them dinner was ready.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>The days melted into weeks. Sweep let herself get caught in the excitement of life on the road with Temperance and Father Vytal. She lost herself in camping and lessons and meditation.</p><p>One morning, Sweep crawled form their tent to see thick, heavy clouds covering the sky from horizon to horizon. The clouds obscured the last of the mountains that had been easily visible yesterday. It felt to Piety as though they'd been trapped under an immense, grey mixing bowl. As they broke camp, munching on biscuits that had baked next to the coals overnight, the first light flakes of snow began to fall.</p><p>"Isn't it a bit late in the season for snow?" Temperance asked.</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. "Winter seems to be hanging on this year."</p><p>As they resumed their trek, Father Vytal continued their lessons, beginning with the hierarchy of the church, the head of which was called the High Cleric who worked with the Church Council, of which there were fifty, to run the church. Father Vytal, a member of the council himself, was friends with many of the counselors and knew the rest by name. He kept referring to High Cleric Marcus Radden as Marcus. Ranked below the council were the mothers and fathers, women and men who had mastered the teachings of the church but weren't council members, then the sisters and brothers, and finally the students who were called acolytes.</p><p>"That will include you once we get to the High Temple," he said.</p><p>Sweep and Temperance looked at each other askance. Acolytes were girls from good families, not orphans. Neither could imagine becoming an acolyte, no matter that Father Vytal was on the Church Council.</p><p>As the day wore on and the snow came heavier, Father Vytal fell silent, and they all focused on putting one foot ahead of the other. They didn't break for lunch but ate dry rations while they walked. Afternoon quickly grew dark as the clouds became heavier still, and well before the sun set, the clouds brought night.</p><p>"It's not far now," Father Vytal assured them again.</p><p>Sweep had lost track of the number of times he'd said that. In fact, she barely heard his voice over the wind and through the thick fur of her hood. Snow covered the ground in small drifts. The wind had picked up, chilling any exposed skin to the point of pain. They all had their hoods pulled low and their coats fastened tight. The snow was coming down harder now, driven by the wind to swirl about, thick, wet flakes dancing madly. Sweep focused on following Temperance.</p><p>When Sweep stumbled and fell, she barely felt it. Something had caught the toe of her boot as she shuffled across the ground. Perhaps a rock. She hit a drift of snow, sending up a small spray of the soft powder, and rolled a few times, coming up to a sitting position. Dumbly, she looked at her hands in her lap through the gloom, her breath steaming in front of her face, and saw the fat, gentle flakes of snow settle upon her to rest. She just needed a little rest.</p><p>But she wasn't allowed rest, she was never allowed enough rest. She was hauled to her feet and was back in the sanctuary of Sacred Heart. She was being dragged down the aisle, everyone looked at her, shaking their heads in disbelief at one so unclean as her. She knew when they reached the end of that aisle, when they reached the dais where sat the light-bathed sisters, she would face punishment of harsh words and harsh hands, as had happened so many times before. They were getting close, she could see the light from the stained glass window bathing the dais.</p><p>And then she remembered that she didn't have to do this anymore. She remembered that she could get away if she wanted to, that these people were no longer her masters, and she struggled.</p><p>She struck out with her arms, twisted her body side to side, threw her head back and screamed. Someone yelled at her.</p><p>"Piety! Piety, stop, we're here."</p><p>Sweep gasped and tried to open her eyes but her eyelids were frozen shut. With gloved fingers she pulled them open, stinging her eyes and bringing tears that froze on her cheeks. The sanctuary was gone. She was surrounded by swirling snow but in front of her was Temperance who had firm hold of her shoulders and shouted her name. Beyond Temperance was a large building, well lit, smelling of wood smoke and babbling with voices.</p><p>"Where are we?" Sweep rasped.</p><p>"We're at a farm. Father Vytal is talking to the head farmer."</p><p>From a little way off and to her right, Father Vytal asked, "Temperance, is she all right?"</p><p>Temperance looked at Sweep for an answer and Sweep nodded.</p><p>"She's fine."</p><p>"Let's get you inside," said another, much deeper voice. "This is no kind of weather to be caught in."</p><p>Sweep stumbled as Temperance guided her with an arm around her shoulders. Soon they were entering that well-lighted area and warmth suffused her so that she gasped as her nose and fingers and toes tingled painfully. The air here smelled of recently cooked food, well spiced, and the scent made her mouth water in the kind of anticipation she would never have allowed herself at Sacred Heart.</p><p>The dining hall was large. Not as large as the refectory at Sacred Heart, but big enough for two long tables filled with people. Sweep remembered Sister Jayne teaching them about the farms in the valley. This farm wasn't like the single-family farms and orchards near Appledel that had maybe three or four work hands. Instead, days travel from Appledel or any other town, the farm had to function as its own town. The farmer, who owned the land, acted as the mayor and had a large staff consisting of cooks, crafters, and farmers, who worked for him. It seemed to Sweep, that all those people filled the dining hall now.</p><p>Sweep let Temperance steer her through the room as she regained her bearings, desperately trying to dispel the terror she'd let take her. She wanted to be stronger, to dismiss the Mother from her thoughts entirely. But even as she berated herself mentally, she feared that strength would never come.</p><p>The people in the dining hall talked and sang and laughed, filling the large room to its rough-hewn rafters. Some set large plates and jugs onto the tables. Two large fireplaces at either end of the hall were filled with flickering orange flames. By the time Temperance helped Sweep onto a bench, Sweep was feeling more like herself. The stinging cold had gone, replaced with a damp, melting, quiet. She was suddenly very sleepy and very hungry.</p><p>"Here, drink this." Temperance pushed a warm mug into her hands.</p><p>Without giving it much thought, Sweep raised the drink to her lips and sipped. She had expected water. Instead, it was a sweet and faintly spicy liquid with a pungent odor she recognized.</p><p>She swallowed carefully before she said "Cider," in a stunned whisper. She'd smelled it before, but never tasted it.</p><p>"Yeah," Temperance said, "and look at all this food."</p><p>Sweep had been so focused on the contrast of cold outside and warmth within, the happy bustle of the farmer's dining hall and the cold formality of the refectory of Sacred Heart, that she hadn't fully taken stock of the food. This farm was clearly competent and well-prepared.</p><p>Just in front of her was a ham hock, bigger than any she'd seen at Sacred Heart, set on a large, white platter. In serving bowls, there were carrots and potatoes, peas and corn and beans. They were prepared in a variety of ways, cooked in water and seasoned lightly with a bit of butter, mashed into a thick paste and smothered in gravy, cooked all together with meat as a savory stew.</p><p>Before Cook had come to Sacred Heart, when Sister Dora was still in charge of the kitchen, Sweep had thought there was only one kind of bread: hard, light-brown lumps that had to be soaked in broth before being eaten. Cook had introduced Sacred Heart to breads of varying shades, seasonings, and firmness, though the orphans were rarely treated to anything but those light-brown loaves. This table was stacked with breads and biscuits and pastries of all kinds.</p><p>There were stews and gravies, roast ham and beef and rabbit. Each of the long tables had two whole roast turkeys. There was light beer and dark beer, red wine and spiced wine, milk and tea and cider.</p><p>Temperance whispered, "Who said 'Be generous in hospitality, kindness, and good food,'?"</p><p>"Saint Claes the Generous," said Sweep.</p><p>All around them, the farmer's staff selected food, piling it on their plates.</p><p>Sweep looked around for Father Vytal and found him at the head of their table, talking with a large man in fine clothes who Sweep assumed was the farmer.</p><p>"Do you think we should just help ourselves?" Temperance asked.</p><p>Sweep looked around. "Everyone else is, and there's no one to stop us." She glanced back at Father Vytal, who was deep in conversation with the large man.</p><p>Temperance nodded slowly. "All right then, we'll help ourselves."</p><p>It was several moments before either of them moved, but eventually Sweep took hold of one of the biscuits next to the ham. Nobody stopped her, nobody hit her, nobody reprimanded her. She held the biscuit close to her face and inhaled deeply, savoring the thick and faintly buttery scent. She had smelled fresh biscuits several times before, but this was the first time she knew she was going to get a taste of one as well. Carefully she set it on her plate and looked at the wealth of food, trying to decide what to select next.</p><p>"Hi."</p><p>A boy with a wide smile and large ears, sat next to Sweep.</p><p>Sweep dropped the spoon she'd been about to use to put cooked carrots on her plate. Temperance pulled her hand back from the plate of bread. Sweep looked at the boy, trying not to shake, and wondered what she'd done wrong.</p><p>The boy took no notice of the fright he'd caused and began filling his plate with food.</p><p>"I'm Amos, Amos Stonebrook. Maggie, that's the farmer's wife, she told me to sit with you and make sure you have everything you need. She said that you're the Holy Father's disciples and that you're shy. She said that I should be friendly and respectful and not to ask too many questions." He paused then and looked at them. "Why aren't you getting any food?" he asked. "Is it some sort of religious reason?"</p><p>Sweep frowned, uncertain how to answer. She didn't want to admit to the way of things at Sacred Heart. She didn't know how to explain that they were afraid to accept the gift before them. She was ashamed of her fear.</p><p>Amos waited several moments before he continued. "Sorry. Maggie told me not to ask too many questions. Do you want me to help you get food?"</p><p>Sweep blushed. "No. I can do it." She looked at Temperance who bit her lip and blushed furiously. She looked back at the boy. "We just... uh... are choosing carefully."</p><p>Amos smiled. Sweep found the smile infectious.</p><p>She and Temperance began to select food from the offerings on the table. Sweep relaxed as no one told her to stop.</p><p>"Maggie puts on a good feast, huh? She had Gemma, that's the head cook, she's been working on this since yesterday morning. All the cooks' helpers have been running around busy all week."</p><p>Sweep paused in buttering a roll. "The cook's helpers don't get to eat?"</p><p>Amos waved a hand dismissively. "Most will join us, and only those who have to serve during the feast will have already had theirs."</p><p>Sweep gave a small sigh of relief and felt it echoed by Temperance.</p><p>Soon, she and Temperance had filled their plates with selections of meat, bread, cheese, and vegetables, both wanting to experience as many different tastes as possible. They had also taken some milk and some cider and some beer and some wine to share.</p><p>When the plates were full and the farmer's staff settled into their seats, a quiet of anticipation filled the room. No one was eating yet, despite the wonderful mix of smells that tempted them to their plates, and Sweep and Temperance waited with them, wondering what came next.</p><p>When the last person was fully seated, when no one reached for just one more biscuit, when all was still, the farmer stood. He was a tall man, and broad, his callused hands and dark skin proved him no stranger to hard work. When he stood, he had everyone's attention immediately.</p><p>"My friends, good evening, and happy Spring's Beginning." He had a deep, slow voice, the same voice Sweep remembered from outside, before she'd been brought into this warm and comforting dining hall.</p><p>Sweep nudged Temperance. "I hadn't realized today was Spring's Beginning."</p><p>Temperance nodded, though whether in agreement or to indicate that she had known, Sweep was uncertain. The farmer continued his speech and the two fell silent.</p><p>"Despite this late, snowy squall, spring is upon us, and our work ahead of us. First, I want to thank you all for another successful year. We had our share of trials, including that damn stubborn bull in the north field." Several people up and down the tables chuckled at the shared memory. "But we made it through and now we greet this new planting season with great promise. Catherine and James, our newest married couple, expect their first child in the coming weeks." He gestured at a young couple at the other table, a round-faced woman with nut-colored hair, and a burly young man with short stubble covering his head and chin. They both smiled happily as the people around the room applauded enthusiastically.</p><p>The farmer paused, taking time to gather his thoughts before continuing. "Tonight we have honored guests." He gestured to his right, at Father Vytal. "This is Holy Father Tristam Vytal, who is accompanied by his two apprentices." At this he gestured toward Temperance and Sweep. All eyes turned on the two and Sweep gave a small, reticent wave while Temperance squirmed and blushed.</p><p>The farmer cleared his throat lightly and the attention was back on him. "Father Vytal, may I impose upon you for a prayer before we partake of this Feast of Spring's Beginning?"</p><p>Father Vytal nodded and stood while the farmer sat. He looked different somehow, more somber, and stoic, and official. He looked more like a Holy Father than a careful, gentle teacher.</p><p>"Good evening." Father Vytal's voice had changed too. It was no longer the patient timbre Sweep and Temperance had become accustomed to, but instead something grand, something of bass rumblings and calm authority.</p><p>Sweep and Temperance folded their hands upon the table and bowed their heads, just as they had at Sacred Heart. It was the first time they had prayed formally since leaving the church, which struck Sweep as odd. Father Vytal hadn't insisted they pray. Perhaps he assumed they prayed on their own.</p><p>"Love be unto God as His love be unto us. We thank You for Your love and guidance, even in the cruelest of times. We hold this feast of Spring's Beginning in Your honor, and in honor of Saint Zyta, and we join You in blessing the coming child of Catherine and James Smith. We thank You for the opportunity to bring joy to the world and the chance to love one another."</p><p>When Father Vytal stopped talking, Sweep thought he was only pausing for breath before launching a lengthy sermon. But then he said, "So be it truth," and everyone echoed him, and then the prayer was over.</p><p>"That's it?" said Sweep quietly.</p><p>"I guess so," said Temperance.</p><p>"Wow," Amos said, turning to Sweep, "that was the quickest prayer I've ever heard from a cleric. You two must be really lucky."</p><p>The food had cooled enough to be edible but was still warm, and it lived up to all Sweep's expectations. The vegetables were sweet and soft except for when they were crisp and crunchy, the bread was warm, the stew was rich, the beef was tender and the turkey was juicy. Sweep decided that she didn't much like beer, but the spiced wine was nice. Temperance, on the other hand, found the wine to be too flowery and instead preferred the dark beer, which she claimed was smooth and creamy, but which was just bitter to Sweep.</p><p>Amos took up the thread of conversation where he had left off. Between mouthfuls, he told them about Cornelius, the old field worker who had begun working on the farm for the current farmer's grandfather, and about the blocked ditch that had gone unnoticed for a week and had caused a minor drought in the back quarter of the apple orchard, and about his one trip to Appledel a year and a half before.</p><p>"Is that where you come from?" Amos asked, but he didn't wait for an answer. "There's a huge church there and it trains a bunch of girls to be clerics, like Father Vytal. Me and Smith went to the evening sermon after he bought the special cloth Maggie wanted. This was right after Smith, I mean James Smith of course, decided he liked Catherine. Anyway, it was the boringest sermon I ever heard. Usually Farmer does the prayer, but even though he goes on for a bit, it was nothing like this. The Mother at Appledel just went on and on and on. I feel bad for the girls who live there. They probably have to listen to that every day. If that were me, I'd run away."</p><p>Sweep looked at Temperance who gave a small shrug at Amos's vision of Sacred Heart. She could see her friend was torn between amusement and painful memories.</p><p>Amos changed subjects quickly and soon they were hearing all about the time he fell out of a tree and broke his arm. Sweep tried to listen to the enthusiastic babble and even tried to participate from time to time, but eventually she fell silent and focused on her meal.</p><p>The girls tried some of everything, but they ate only half as much as most and were well sated by the time the remains of the dinner were cleared and the kitchen crew brought out pies and cakes.</p><p>"It smells so wonderful," Temperance groaned.</p><p>But the two agreed that they were too full from dinner to partake of dessert, though Amos encouraged them to try some.</p><p>They sat back, contented in the first full meal they'd been allowed. Sweep half-closed her eyes and let the gentle babble of conversation lull her, taking her thoughts upon a drifting leaf upon a breeze.</p><p>And, prompted by Amos' story of Appledel and the boringest sermon he ever heard, her thoughts wandered to Sacred Heart and the girls she'd left behind: Patience and Midnight, Lillyfield and Joy, Charity and Faith, and all the others. Their meal tonight would be thin soup and cold water and hard bread. They had never been kind to her, and had often been cruel, but Sweep felt a pang in her chest.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 05</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>When dinner was done, Amos bid them good night, lingering until Father Vytal and the farmer approached.</p><p>"Well, good night," he said again and left.</p><p>"He was nice," Sweep commented idly, watching the lithe boy wend his way through the crowd.</p><p>Temperance made a disinterested sound. "He talked too much."</p><p>"Hello, girls," Father Vytal said in his regular voice. "Did you enjoy dinner?"</p><p>Both girls nodded. "Yes, sir," said Sweep. She looked at the farmer. "Do you need help with the dishes, sir?"</p><p>The farmer chuckled. "No, child. The kitchen staff will take care of it."</p><p>Father Vytal smiled. "Sweep, Temperance, I'd like you to meet Rauf Kaver."</p><p>The girls bowed to the farmer and he returned the gesture.</p><p>Farmer Kaver led them outside where the snow fell thick and steady, blanketing the ground and forming drifts against walls. He led them to a small house that was already lighted inside, its chimney issuing a thin plume of smoke. Inside, there were two small beds, a table, and three simple stools on a grey and brown patterned rug. A small fire licked about the inside of the fireplace. Farmer Kaver fetched firewood from a pile just outside the door and added it to the flames.</p><p>"This was James Smith's cottage until he got married," Farmer Kaver explained. "They moved to a bigger one to accommodate the family. I'm sorry I can't provide you better accommodations, Holy Father–"</p><p>But Father Vytal cut him off. "Your hospitality is generous and a great compliment to your faith. You have given us more than enough."</p><p>Sweep and Temperance nodded in agreement. This seemed to satisfy the farmer and he prepared to leave when Father Vytal stayed him with a hand on his arm.</p><p>"Farmer, forgive me, but I have an ulterior motive for coming to your farm tonight. I'm searching for someone, a woman, who I have heard has passed this way."</p><p>The girls went further into the room, putting down their packs and unpacking clothes and blankets, giving Father Vytal and Farmer Kaver a semblance of privacy.</p><p>The farmer nodded solemnly. "Go on, Holy Father."</p><p>"She's an elder woman, but not infirm. Her hair has gone iron grey. Her most striking feature is her purple eyes."</p><p>Sweep gasped. For a moment, she could see those kind purple eyes looking down upon her. Despite her gasp, neither of the adults turned their attention to her.</p><p>Father Vytal went on. "I've never seen eyes like hers on anybody else."</p><p>The Farmer nodded. "Neither have I," he agreed. "Such a woman visited this farm day before the Newyear. She asked only for somewhere to rest for the evening and went on in the morning. She slept in this cottage in fact. It was clear to all of us that she was a holy woman, though she wore no sunburst. She gave her blessing to James and Catherine."</p><p>"Did she tell you where she was going next?"</p><p>The Farmer shook his head. "When I asked, she told me she was going where she was needed."</p><p>Father Vytal sighed. "I see."</p><p>"I'm sorry I don't have better information for you, Holy Father."</p><p>Father Vytal waved away the apology. "It's quite all right, Rauf. Thank you for your hospitality."</p><p>The Farmer bid them all good night and closed the door as he left.</p><p>Because there were only two beds, Father Vytal offered to take the floor, but Sweep and Temperance insisted they didn't mind sharing. The warmth of the cottage combined with the fullness of their bellies and the knowledge that outside it was cold and snowing, made them all quiet and sleepy. As she lay down, Sweep was certain she would be unable to sleep for wondering why Father Vytal quested after the purple-eyed woman, of thinking of ways to ask without being rude, of memories and dreams, but she was soon fast asleep, snuggled close to Temperance on the narrow bed.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>She dreamt she was in a palace of marble halls and golden rugs, of silver candlesticks and silken tapestries. In her dream, this place of wealth was her home. And she sat upon her throne of silver and shuffled a deck of cards and presided over a game upon a checkered battlefield.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>"Piety, Piety wake up."</p><p>Sweep woke with an intake of breath and the certainty she was supposed to be doing something important. The room was well lit and warm. Someone had stoked the fire. Sweep sat up and looked around. The door was open, snow still fell, and it was still dark. Rauf Kaver stood in the door, speaking with Father Vytal. Behind the farmer was a strong young man who Sweep remembered from dinner as James the Smith.</p><p>"Our midwife died this past autumn and the nearest is three miles away. She won't arrive in time."</p><p>"I understand," Father Vytal said. "We'll be ready soon." He turned to face them. "Girls, get dressed. Catherine Smith is having her baby."</p><p>James and Catherine's cottage was larger than the one the girls shared with Father Vytal, and was separated into a front room and two small bedrooms. Catherine was in one of the bedrooms, on a bed made for two and propped up on several pillows. Her forehead was slick with sweat, her breathing was fast and short. Father Vytal hurried to her side and put two fingers on Catherine's temple, his eyes suddenly looking far away. A moment later he pulled away and winced.</p><p>"She's in a lot of pain," Father Vytal said. "Rauf, do you have willowbark?"</p><p>"Uh..." Rauf Kaver shrugged his big shoulders. "I can ask the cook..."</p><p>"I can do it," Temperance said quickly. Everyone looked at her and she shrank back, blushing. "I know how to brew the tea," she said in a smaller voice. "I'm good with herbs."</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. "Fine. Rauf, take her to the kitchen."</p><p>The farmer descended upon Temperance and scooped her in his arms. Temperance squeaked with fright, but the farmer had spirited her out the door before she could object.</p><p>"James, I need you to get more firewood, we need it warm in here, understand?"</p><p>The stout, strong young man looked at Father Vytal to his wife and then back to Father Vytal. "Are you sure there's nothing I can do here?"</p><p>"Are you trained in medicine or healing?" Father Vytal asked.</p><p>James shook his head. "No, sir."</p><p>"All right then. We'll need firewood."</p><p>"Yes, sir."</p><p>When James had left, Father Vytal turned to Sweep. "Piety, would you please fetch the stools from the front room?"</p><p>Sweep blinked in surprise.</p><p>"Sir?"</p><p>He had called her Piety instead of Sweep. She hadn't told him her name so he must have overheard it, perhaps when Temperance called her name to wake her. But why would he choose 'Piety' instead of 'Sweep'?</p><p>"Piety? The stools?"</p><p>Sweep shook herself. "Of course."</p><p>The two of them sat at Catherine's bedside upon the stools from the front room. Sweep rested a hand on Father Vytal's arm while he rested a hand on Catherine's shoulder.</p><p>"Catherine, I'm going to need your help," Father Vytal said. "Your baby is ready to be born but he needs a little direction."</p><p>But at the same time, he spoke to Sweep, directly into her mind. It was an odd sort of feeling, like the buzzing she felt when power filled her, but tingling just a hairsbreadth from her skull. It felt kind of like a polite knock on a mental door, a gentle clearing of the throat to get someone's attention. Instinctively, Sweep opened herself to Father Vytal.</p><p>"Piety, Catherine's body is ready to give birth, but the baby has not turned; it's not in the right position. You have the healing power, can you feel what I mean?" His voice echoed like he was speaking to her from across a vast room.</p><p>Sweep controlled her breathing and tried to empty her mind of the panic threatening to take over. She tried to remember what Father Vytal had taught her: careful breaths, relax her body, empty herself of self.</p><p>It was difficult. The immediacy of the situation intruded upon her attempted calm. And though Father Vytal had told her she had the healing power she didn't really know what that meant. They hadn't practiced healing yet, just meditation. She tried to remember how it had felt the night she had healed Father Vytal. With a deep breath, she reached out and allowed her surroundings to fill her. Something within her stretched, like legs long cramped.</p><p>Next to her, Father Vytal was a shining beacon of silvery purple light but he had a barrier around him, like a heavy piece of glass that held all his energy in. On the bed, Catherine glowed a faint orange-yellow like the color of flame, and within her was a bright yellow patch. But something was wrong. The two bodies weren't working together as they ought. She could feel the confusion, the conflict.</p><p>"Yes," Sweep projected the words at Father Vytal. "Yes, I feel it."</p><p>Aloud, Father Vytal spoke to Catherine. "I have a power," he said. "Do you know what that means?"</p><p>Catherine nodded weakly and her orange aura wavered. Catherine's body was putting all its effort into the baby.</p><p>"Like magic?" Catherine asked. "Like from the Scriptures?"</p><p>"Yes, like magic. I'm going to talk to your baby, show him how to face the right way, but I'm going to need your help. He's been listening to your voice for months now, and he will respond better to you than to me. Do you understand?"</p><p>Catherine nodded again. "I'm going to talk to my baby."</p><p>"Very good."</p><p>"Piety, Catherine's body is failing."</p><p>"I see," Sweep replied, trying to focus on the tingly feeling suffusing her body.</p><p>"I need you to feed her healing energy, like you did for me. Can you do that?"</p><p>Sweep's focus wavered as the notion of someone depending on her filled her thoughts.</p><p>"Hold steady, Piety. Go to the mindspace."</p><p>That was something she knew she could do. With ease of practice, she entered the room in her mind. The silver upholstered arm chair with the black and white designs was a welcome and comforting sight. She would have liked to sit in that chair and read one of the many books, or consider her next move in the game of chess, or play at cards on the smooth wooden table, but that was not why she had come. She hadn't come to escape, but to focus.</p><p>Father Vytal was impressed, the wordless thought projecting into her mind.</p><p>"Very good. Now I want you to access your power." Father Vytal's voice had lost the echoy quality. Now it sounded like he was right next to her.</p><p>"How do I do that?"</p><p>"Imagine a desk, and upon the desk is a bowl of water. That water is your power."</p><p>Using the room in her mind had given Sweep instantaneous concentration, and she drew it to her like a sun-warmed blanket. She sat at the desk in her mindspace and imagined a bowl of water. It appeared upon the desk without a sound.</p><p>"The water is your power. You can access as much or as little as you like."</p><p>It was easy here, to feel that tingly buzz she was coming to associate with her power, to hear the chimes. She closed her eyes to see the orange-yellow light of Catherine fading slowly, and to hear Catherine talking to her unborn child, pleading with him, and to sense Father Vytal trying to encourage the child to turn.</p><p>"I want you to access a little of your power," Father Vytal continued. "Dip a finger into the bowl of water. And then channel that power into Catherine, as you did for me. Take it slow. I don't want you to hurt yourself."</p><p>With a gentle, mental caress, Sweep reached out to Catherine and found that the woman's body was feeding its energy into the baby, leaving none for herself. She opened herself and let the tingly energy flow from the water in her mindspace into the pale orange light of Catherine. She willed the energy into helping the body to do what it needed to do, what it was trying to do. The effect was immediate, Catherine's glow intensified, as did the glow of the baby still inside her. Catherine's voice became stronger, less pleading and more encouraging. Father Vytal's grip on Sweep's arm, which she had forgotten about, eased. She could sense the baby sliding into the position Father Vytal wanted for him. Catherine's pained breathing came a little easier now.</p><p>"Good," said Father Vytal, "Very good. Take a few minutes to rest, Catherine. We're not done yet."</p><p>Sweep opened her eyes. Catherine looked much better, her face was flush, her eyes were bright, and though she still looked pained, she also looked determined.</p><p>"Piety, how are you holding up?"</p><p>Sweep looked up at Father Vytal. His lined, bearded face was narrowed in concern.</p><p>"I feel fine," Sweep replied.</p><p>Rauf Kaver and Temperance came back then, Temperance cradled in the large man's arms, clutching a pack to her chest. When Rauf put her down, she unpacked what she'd brought and directed Rauf to stoking up the fire in the front room. She produced a teakettle and a jar of water. Soaking a cloth in the water, she put it on Catherine's forehead.</p><p>"Oh," Catherine sighed, "thank you, Sister."</p><p>Temperance recoiled from the title, though Catherine didn't notice. "My name is Temperance," she corrected gently. Catherine smiled at Temperance and Temperance smiled in return before turning to Father Vytal. "How are we doing?"</p><p>"We've encouraged the child into the proper position. So, in a few minutes he'll start—" but he was cut off by Catherine's sudden scream. Automatically, he took one of her hands, and Temperance took the other.</p><p>Sweep entered the room in her mind, slipping into that place of calm with no more effort than the beating of her heart. She was in the room only a moment before she opened herself to the healing power she now knew for certain was within her. Focusing on the life around her, she saw everyone surrounded by an aura of colored light. She saw Father Vytal, his silvery purple aura encased in a hard, glass-like shell. She saw Temperance, a pale yellow and green. And she could see the bright, hot yellow of the baby and Catherine's warm orange contracting around the baby. For a moment, the doubt and panic returned, but Sweep focused on the task at hand, and the power did not waver.</p><p>Catherine's body suddenly relaxed and she stopped screaming, her breathing coming fast and labored.</p><p>"You're fine, Catherine, you're doing very well," said Father Vytal.</p><p>"I haven't had time to brew the tea yet," Temperance said.</p><p>"The baby's coming now," Father Vytal said. "I'm sorry Catherine, but we'll have to do this without the tea. Piety, take Catherine's hand and keep your power ready."</p><p>Sweep did as Father Vytal told her while he knelt at the foot of the bed, at Catherine's feet. Sweep looked across Catherine's heaving chest at Temperance and Temperance looked back. Temperance's eyes had gone wide with concern, her brow drawn, her lips thin and white. And yet, Sweep knew Temperance was happy here, helping Catherine though her trial. Sweep gave her friend a small smile and Temperance returned the smile, small and tight.</p><p>When Catherine screamed again, Sweep jumped and her hold on the power wavered. With an intake of breath, she entered the room in her mind and with exhalation she took hold of her power. This time, in addition to seeing the orange glow surrounding Catherine, she could taste the woman's pain, like copper, in the back of her throat and, without thinking, she swallowed it.</p><p>It was like all the muscles in her body suddenly tensed at the same time. Her spine bowed and her teeth clenched and sweat sprang from her body. She couldn't move and she couldn't think and she couldn't breathe, all in one infinite moment. But she'd born up under unexpected pain for twelve years, and she did not cry out.</p><p>"Oh," Catherine whispered, her voice hoarse and worn.</p><p>Sweep felt Catherine's grip relax and her body contract and a baby's first cries filled the room. Through the haze of pain that had colored her vision, Sweep examined Catherine with her healing sense. The passage of the child from the woman's body had done some damage and Sweep sent energy, helping the body speed along the process of healing. Distantly, she heard James and Rauf; they were arguing loudly. Had they come into the room? There were more voices, but she couldn't hear them, they were too distant. She could no longer see Catherine, the colors and shapes had blurred beyond recognition. She tried to look up at Temperance, but as she lifted her head it didn't stop where she'd meant it to. It kept going, and she fell backward into darkness.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Sweep spent the next few days confined to bed, recovering. Father Vytal explained to her that she had overexerted herself. He explained that powers drew upon personal energy, and to use too much was to risk unconsciousness or even death.</p><p>"I am sorry you had to learn that lesson the hard way, and I am grateful you are all right."</p><p>When Sweep explained she'd sensed Catherine's pain and taken it, Father Vytal was impressed.</p><p>"It would seem you're a martyr in addition to a healer."</p><p>Sweep felt a shiver of fear. In the Scriptures martyrs were people who died for a cause, often painfully and at a young age. But Father Vytal explained that "martyr" also referred to the power to take on another's pain as one's own. Not that the explanation was comforting. Sweep had plenty of experience with pain, and she didn't want to experience more of it.</p><p>They also talked about Sweep's mindspace, the room in her mind.</p><p>"Who taught you to construct your mindspace?" Father Vytal asked.</p><p>"No one," she replied, but then changed her mind. "God, maybe."</p><p>"God?"</p><p>From under her covers, Sweep shrugged. She recounted the time when she was four years old and just out of the nursery, when she had focused her thoughts to pray and had sensed a safe place within herself, and had been beaten for it. She explained how, years later, she had sensed it again and discovered the room in her mind.</p><p>"That's quite remarkable, Piety. Having more than one gift is uncommon, but I've never heard of any child who learned about the mindspace without training."</p><p>"Why do you call me that?" Sweep asked.</p><p>She knew the question deviated sharply, but she wanted to ask while the opportunity was fresh.</p><p>Father Vytal raised an eyebrow, though whether to question her change of subject or the question itself, was unclear. But he answered, "It's your name, isn't it?"</p><p>"It is. But everyone has called me Sweep since I was four."</p><p>"Would you rather I didn't?"</p><p>Sweep gave her answer some thought. She liked the name even though the Mother Superior had given it to her. But she hadn't thought of herself as Piety in a long time. Temperance called her Piety, but that was because she was Temperance. Why had Father Vytal chosen to do so? After a bit, she decided she didn't mind, no matter the reason.</p><p>"I suppose it's fine."</p><p>Father Vytal gave a nod and returned to the previous subject.</p><p>"What did you do with your mindspace before now?"</p><p>"I read books, play chess, play cards..." but she trailed off as she saw Father Vytal's stunned expression. When he didn't say anything to fill the silence, she said, "I suppose that's remarkable too?"</p><p>"Who do you play chess with?"</p><p>Sweep explained about the book called Psychology of Man and the theory of the subconscious and how she'd been playing against herself. As she explained, doubts rose. Even with powers it seemed impossible. And the doubts made her afraid.</p><p>But Father Vytal nodded. "I'm surprised Willow would allow such a book into the library."</p><p>"She didn't," Sweep told him. "I found it on the bookshelf in the room in my mind. In my mindspace."</p><p>"How did it get there?"</p><p>"I don't know," Sweep told him. "I think my subconscious is able to learn things and then teach them to me through the books.</p><p>Father Vytal was silent for several minutes, considering, and Sweep was afraid he'd changed his mind about her, that she was too much even for him, that he was going to send her back to Sacred Heart.</p><p>But Sweep would not go back. She began thinking through ways to avoid going back to the wretched place: politely decline, slip away in the night, outright confrontation. But when the cleric spoke, he eased her fears and Sweep was embarrassed that, even for a moment, she'd thought less of him.</p><p>"That is a power I've never heard of before. Simply amazing. You are an extraordinary girl, Piety."</p><p>And then Father Vytal explained to her how the mindspace was generally used as a concentration technique and no one he had ever met used it for anything else.</p><p>"When you're recovered, I'd like to start exploring your powers. You've come a long way on your own, but untrained powers can be dangerous. As you've learned. The more familiar you are with your abilities, the less likely you'll overtax yourself."</p><p>After a few moments of silence, Sweep said, "Sir, I have a question."</p><p>She swallowed and looked away. Embarrassed now, reluctant, she examined the bedpost just to her left, away from Father Vytal. It was a simple, square cut post of well-smoothed wood painted white. The white paint had worn over the years and was thin in spots.</p><p>"Piety?"</p><p>Sweep closed her eyes. She didn't want to ask now; she wished she'd not spoken, but it was too late.</p><p>"Sir, what about my hair?"</p><p>"Hmm?" His expression had gone politely questioning, eyebrow raised.</p><p>Sweep blushed and wished she could sink into the bed. "I mean, my signs of disfavor? I have white hair, and use my left hand. That's... that's bad, isn't it?"</p><p>Sweep had never believed the Mother. Reading the Scriptures had convinced her God's Saints valued virtues of thought and deed, not physical conformity. But she'd been told all her life that the way she looked was wrong, and sometimes she found it difficult not to believe.</p><p>"What gave you that idea?" But the Father's expression hardened and she knew that he knew. He put a hand on her shoulder. "Piety, you have been gifted with great powers and there are some people who will never be able to understand that. There are some people who disparage anything different from them. Including something as inconsequential as hair color."</p><p>Sweep swallowed hard, her cheeks had flushed and her breathing gone shallow. It didn't matter how many times she'd told herself the Mother was wrong, doubt still nagged at her. She took a deep breath against the tears sliding down her cheeks.</p><p>"I know another girl," Father Vytal continued, "a girl much like yourself, who I have taught since she was quite small. Her hair is silver. Not grey like mine, but pure silver. She is the Heir of Khulanty, and no one would dare call her hair a sign of God's disfavor."</p><p>"But she's the Heir. I'm just an orphan."</p><p>"My point, precisely. Willow's prejudice had nothing to do with your hair color and everything to do with your station. Piety, God does not mark anyone as favored or unfavored. He loves us all and has given us guidance in the Scriptures. The rest is up to us. Do you understand?"</p><p>Sweep nodded a little. They were silent for a while as Sweep collected herself and decided to ask the other question burning in her thoughts.</p><p>"Sir... about your quest?"</p><p>"Yes?"</p><p>"I've seen her."</p><p>Father Vytal chuckled. "At this point, I'm not surprised. Did she come to Sacred Heart?"</p><p>Sweep nodded. "I think so. I remember her eyes from... from a long time ago. It's the first thing I remember. And then, I've had dreams about her." She described her dreams of playing chess with real soldiers, of being on both ends of the combat, of twilight storm clouds, and of a kind, purple-eyed woman who watched it all.</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. "It seems you may be a dreamer as well, someone who can see omens in her dreams."</p><p>"Do you think my dreams mean something?"</p><p>"Undoubtedly. But I have no idea what. Interpreting dreams is imprecise work. Omens are often unclear until after their importance has passed."</p><p>"Can you tell me what you know about her?"</p><p>Father Vytal smiled. "Studying the Purple-eyed Prophet is the work of a lifetime, but I'll try for a shortened version."</p><p>His expression turned thoughtful and quiet and faintly melancholy. His gaze focused on a spot far away.</p><p>"There are several accounts, though most of them dismissed by skeptics, of a purple-eyed girl appearing at the side of First Royal Dalton Loreamer. She served as an advisor and clairvoyant. There is no record of her name, but she's sometimes called the Purple Prophesier or some variation thereof. Since that time, there have been all manner of sightings. Sometimes she is a girl little older than you, sometimes she is an old woman, sometimes she is somewhere in between. Most often she is described as elderly. She has appeared in a variety of places throughout Khulanty over the last hundred years. Because of the disparity of age and location, many claim there are several different women with purple eyes."</p><p>"You disagree?"</p><p>Father Vytal nodded.</p><p>"Who is she?"</p><p>"There are several theories. She might be an angel sent to guide us, or a powerful mage with a hidden agenda, or a mischievous spirit from another Realm."</p><p>"But you know better, don't you?" Sweep said.</p><p>Father Vytal smiled and focused upon her once again. "I do. I had the good fortune of meeting her once, when I was younger. We spent some time together. She means a great deal to me."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 06</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Logging station three was wedged in the crags of the south bank of the Grand River, several days travel from the last little village they had visited. It was composed of seven small cottages and one longhouse, each log-built with peaked, shingled roofs. Most of the loggers, the bachelors, lived in the longhouse while the cottages were reserved for the men who’d been granted leave to bring their families with them.</p><p>The logging station had been established two springs ago with a manifest to send their harvest downriver to Riverton, the seat of Magistrate Putnam. But since their establishment, they’d met resistance from a man claiming to be the local game warden. He and his rangers had their own manifest from Magistrate Putnam. The conflict hadn’t yet become violent, but tempers were high.</p><p>Sweep could feel the frustration, like a plugged kettle over an open flame, fit to burst. Every injury, every misfortune, every bad turn was blamed by the loggers on the rangers and by the rangers on the loggers. Men with tools began holding them like weapons.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Sweep pulled her eyes open with concerted effort and a gasp. Desperate, she looked around, trying to pull reality from fancy.</p><p>She sat on a thin cushion in the back of a cart, surrounded by their supplies: bags of beans, several tightly rolled blankets, a set of small, dented pots, and so on.</p><p>Father Vytal had purchased the cart and donkey from Farmer Kaver. He had insisted on paying, though the farmer had wanted to gift them. Temperance had named the donkey Steady.</p><p>“If he’s going to carry all our stuff, he ought to have a name,” she had reasoned.</p><p>The cart trundled along, Steady keeping his slow, constant pace. To the right, the Grand River splashed along in its bed. And on the far side of the river, the bank had turned steep and rocky, unlike the smooth bank on the north side where they traveled.</p><p>Blinking hard, Sweep looked to the fore of the cart, where Father Vytal sat on the bench, holding the reins, and Temperance sat next to him, showing him a small white flower.</p><p>But Temperance stopped and looked back at her.</p><p>“What’s wrong?” Temperance asked.</p><p>“I thought I heard something,” Sweep said. But that wasn’t quite right. She hadn’t heard anything but the rattle of wagon wheels and the clop of hooves and the song of birds. Instead, what she knew about logging station three had been felt, perhaps experienced, perhaps thought.</p><p>“Father Vytal, is there a logging station ahead, on the south side of the river?”</p><p>Father Vytal shrugged. “Not that I’m aware of. I took the north road to the Valley and haven’t been on the river road for several years now.”</p><p>“What did you hear?” Temperance asked.</p><p>“I don’t know how to explain it. It was… I just know…”</p><p>“Ah,” said Father Vytal. “I think I know what’s happened.” He tugged at the reins, pulling Steady to a stop, then turned on the bench to face Sweep.</p><p>“Is something wrong?” Temperance asked, an edge of panic coloring her tone. Sweep wanted to assure her friend she was fine, but doubt forestalled her.</p><p>“Girls, Do you know what a telepath is?” Father Vytal asked.</p><p>Temperance nodded. “It’s a person who can share thoughts or read another’s thoughts. Saint Ruth was a telepath.”</p><p>Father Vytal nodded.</p><p>“So that’s it then. Piety’s a telepath, isn’t she?” Temperance said.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Sweep looked from Father Vytal to Temperance and back again. “How long have you known?”</p><p>“Since we helped Catherine. I spoke into your mind so as not to frighten her. I didn’t expect you to speak into mine.”</p><p>Sweep was stunned and not a little hurt. “But, why didn’t you tell me?”</p><p>Father Vytal spread his hands, a conciliatory gesture. “I didn’t want to frighten you. I am a healer and a telepath. When I arrived at the High Temple, I was the first person with more than one power in several decades. Powers are rare. Having more than one is rarer still. Outside the Scriptures, it is unheard of for a person to have more than two. I had hoped to introduce you to your other powers over time.”</p><p>“Powers?” said Sweep. “You mean there’s more?”</p><p>“When you told me how you healed me, you described a purple light.”</p><p>Sweep nodded.</p><p>“Oh,” said Temperance. “Does that mean she’s also an aura-seer?”</p><p>Sweep took a deep, careful breath. Her whole body went numb and she closed her eyes. She felt as though she teetered upon the edge of a great precipice; on one side grounded reality, on the other the infinite unknown cosmos. She didn’t know if Father Vytal still spoke to her. Instead, she wondered what would happen if she fell into the cosmos. Would she fall forever? Would she meet with the cosmic divine? Or would she simply open her eyes?</p><p>“Piety?”</p><p>Sweep jerked from the precipice and opened her eyes. Temperance knelt next to her, face lined with worry.</p><p>“I’m fine,” Sweep said. “It’s just… I don’t know what to think.”</p><p>Temperance smiled at her. “Me neither. Just remember that if you need anything, I’m right here.”</p><p>Temperance drove the wagon while Sweep and Father Vytal sat in the bed with the supplies and Father Vytal talked to her about telepathy and aura reading. And when it was time to try it on purpose, she sat at the desk in the room in her mind and summoned the bowl of water. Dipping her fingers into the water, she closed her eyes. Immediately she saw the yellow and green swirls of Temperance and the silvery purple nimbus of Father Vytal.</p><p>“I see you, but how do I contact you?”</p><p>“Sometimes, it’s easiest to start with a metaphor. Reach out to me as though your thoughts were your arms and knock upon my aura as though it were a door.”</p><p>Put that way, she found it easy enough. She reached her thoughts to the silvery purple light and encountered the hard glass shell she’d noted before. She tapped at it, and the shell wavered a bit.</p><p>“Well done, Piety.” She heard his voice both within her mind and without. “Telepathic contact is easier with other telepaths and even easier with physical contact. But the strongest telepathic bonds I’ve seen were between close friends.”</p><p>Sweep reached out to Temperance’s green and yellow swirls.</p><p>“Piety?” Temperance’s voice was clear in her mind. “That’s you, right?”</p><p>Sweep nodded.</p><p>“You must understand though,” Father Vytal interrupted, “telepathic power comes with vulnerability to telepathic attack. You’ve noticed my mental shield?”</p><p>Sweep returned her attention to Father Vytal. “Like glass armor covering your aura.”</p><p>“Indeed. Many choose stone or iron, but I prefer the metaphor of glass because it reminds me to be open to my surroundings, not closed off.”</p><p>“But glass breaks,” Sweep objected.</p><p>“True. Against a physical attack, glass is brittle. But in the mind, the image is what we make of it. To spread your telepathic sense beyond the most immediate, you’ll have to lower your shield. Some, however, learn to stretch their telepathy with their shield in place. We define the metaphor, not the other way around. Glass allows me to see further than the immediate.”</p><p>Sweep nodded. She took a breath, closed her eyes, and slipped to the mindspace. There she sat at the desk and dipped her fingers in the bowl of water. She imagined a glass shell around herself, a shimmering, gossamer protection, flexible and translucent and yet stronger than steel.</p><p>“Again, Piety, I must say, I am impressed.”</p><p>Temperance interrupted them.</p><p>“Father? There’s a bridge ahead. And there’s a man there waving at us. He has an ax.”</p><p>His name was Thomas, and he had waved them over hoping they’d have some medical supplies they’d part with; a logger had stepped the wrong way when a tree was felled. It had fallen upon him and broken his leg.</p><p>“We’ll do better,” said Father Vytal. “My apprentices and I are healers. Show us the way.”</p><p>The small collection of buildings was just as Sweep had seen it, seven small cottages and one longhouse. She clutched at her new mental shield as though it were a warm blanket on a cold day. As they disembarked from the wagon and made their way into the longhouse, Temperance grabbed her hand.</p><p>“It’s all right. Your powers are nothing to be afraid of.”</p><p>“Aren’t they?” Sweep returned. “What if there are other things I can do? Some powers are terrible. What if I exhaust myself? Father Vytal said it could kill me.”</p><p>Temperance shook her head. “Stop that. We’ve got Father Vytal now. He’ll help you.”</p><p>She ought to enjoy this, Sweep told herself. She was away from the Mother, she was on an adventure, she had powers. Like the Saints, she could be a hero, or, like the saints, die tragically.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>The wounded man had been lying in bed for three days, bandages inexpertly wrapped and infrequently changed. When they arrived, he had a fever and his wounds were infected. He smelled of brandy because, as Thomas explained, alcohol cleaned wounds.</p><p>“I’ll make the tea,” said Temperance, going to the nearest fireplace and setting to work.</p><p>Even pale and shuddering under several blankets, the logger was a large man with arms as big around as Sweep’s head and a chest like a trunk. He looked like he should have been able to withstand anything, even a tree falling on him.</p><p>Sweep helped Father Vytal remove the bloody bandages, revealing several scabbed-over abrasions, and one large, oozing gash that smelled sickly sweet. It twisted at the thigh, broken and left unset.</p><p>Without prompting, Sweep opened herself to the young man and let some of his pain ease into her. Her legs cramped and she sat with a thump on the floor. Though imbibing the brandy had subdued his pain, the logger shuddered in relief.</p><p>Father Vytal knelt next to her.</p><p>“Are you all right?”</p><p>She nodded. “It’s not so bad. I didn’t take all of it.”</p><p>Father Vytal sat next to her and steadied her with a hand on her back.</p><p>“Well take this slowly, no need for mistakes. Focus on his wounds. What do you feel?”</p><p>Sweep took a breath, slipped to the mindspace, and colored light swelled into visibility. This man, like most, was filled with an orangish yellow light. The aura was strong but labored against something she couldn’t see.</p><p>“There’s something in him that doesn’t belong. His body is trying to remove whatever it is and fix itself at the same time.”</p><p>“Indeed. There are still wood slivers in the wounds. We’ll have to help the body remove them as we encourage it to heal.”</p><p>“You can fix me?” the logger asked, his breath heavy with brandy.</p><p>“We can,” Father Vytal assured him.</p><p>Temperance presented her tea to Father Vytal who sniffed it before nodding his approval. She gave it to the logger who drank, though not without grunting at the taste. Then Father Vytal and Sweep healed him. They set the broken bone, expelled the wood slivers, killed the infection, and closed the wounds. When they finished, their patient shuddered, sighed, and fell asleep.</p><p>Sweep sweated with the effort.</p><p>Father Vytal helped her stand. He wasn’t sweating; he didn’t even look tired.</p><p>The door banged open and a large man entered. He was taller and broader than any man she’d ever seen. His hair and beard were thick, white stubble. His arms were bare and likewise covered in thick white hair, like a winter bear who’d decided to wear a man’s form. He was clad in thick leather.</p><p>“Where is he?” demanded the snowy-bearded giant. His eyes lit upon Thomas. “I heard the sheriff had come. Where is he, boy?”</p><p>“Uh, not the sheriff, sir. This is a Holy Father. He healed Lon.”</p><p>The large man frowned. “Well…” he turned and stomped from the building.</p><p>“He’s the man in charge?” Father Vytal asked mildly.</p><p>Thomas nodded. “My father, Dakkon. He’s… uh… a bit blunt.”</p><p>“Why does he want the sheriff?”</p><p>“There’s been some fighting about who has rights to the land.”</p><p>“The game warden and his rangers,” Sweep said.</p><p>“Yes,” said Thomas. “How did you know?”</p><p>Sweep looked at Father Vytal. “This is what I knew when I meditated this morning. The game warden and his rangers are fighting with the loggers because each has a manifest from Magistrate Putnam.”</p><p>“Theirs is a falsified document,” Thomas said quickly, voice edged with anger.</p><p>Sweep scurried behind Father Vytal, Temperance at her side. Sweep tried to slow her hammering heartbeat. She chided herself for her sudden cowardice.</p><p>Father Vytal kept his calm. “Girls, what do you say we look into the situation?” He followed Dakkon from the longhouse and the girls stayed close behind. Sweep turned to keep her eyes on Thomas, who looked nonplussed.</p><p>Dakkon stood on the rocks next to the river, shouting incoherently. Three large men, not quite as large as Dakkon, stood nearby, their logging axes held at the ready. Father Vytal strode toward them, Sweep and Temperance in his wake. Thomas hurried on ahead.</p><p>Dakkon stepped away from the river and toward Father Vytal. The large logger reined in his temper with obvious effort.</p><p>“Holy Father, you have my gratitude for healing Lon and my apologies for our abrupt introduction, but I am in the midst of dealing with brigands. I had hoped the sheriff had arrived so as to put the matter to rest.” He gestured at the river where the remnants of a small wooden structure and several supplies bobbed downstream.</p><p>Father Vytal glanced at the river then extended his hand to Dakkon, and as he did so, Sweep saw him shift subtly from the kindly, travel-worn teacher to the distinguished, implacable cleric. When Dakkon took Father Vytal’s hand, though he was larger than the cleric, he did not loom over him. Father Vytal’s stature and authority were evident in the way he stood, the set of his jaw, the way he extended his hand, no matter that he wore simple traveler’s clothes.</p><p>“Dakkon, my name is Tristam Vytal, and I am a member of the Church Council. I am aware of your conflict with the game warden, and though the local sheriff would be ideal in this situation, I have often served as a mediator. I would like to offer my service before the situation escalates.” He looked meaningfully at the loggers behind Dakkon. Abashedly, the men thrust their ax handles through the loops on their belts.</p><p>Dakkon looked at his men, irritated, then back at Father Vytal.</p><p>“That old sneak thief has sabotaged our lawful operation for nearly three years now, ever since we arrived. Our manifest is valid. I watched Noble Putnam sign it myself. Rory’s claim is as false as the signature on that old rag of a manifest he waves about. It looks nothing like the one on mine.”</p><p>While Father Vytal spoke to Dakkon, Sweep felt her attention pulled in another direction. The feeling held the thin edge of disaster, like bread left just a little too long in the oven, but not yet burned, and if she could get to it, she might be able to pull it from the fire.</p><p>Temperance squeezed her hand and looked at her meaningfully.</p><p>“What?” Sweep whispered, distracted by the not-quite-yet disaster.</p><p>But Temperance shook her head and tapped her temple.</p><p>Sweep felt a small knot of excitement and couldn’t suppress a grin. She closed her eyes and slipped to the mindspace. There, she felt an immediate calm and concentration. She reached for her power and for the yellow and green swirls of Temperance.</p><p>“It’s Thomas. There’s something else going on and he’s got something to do with it. Do you see him?”</p><p>Sweep cast her gaze about the craggy clearing of logging station three. The wood here on the south side of the Grand was thicker than on the north. The trees were closely packed, had thicker trunks and reached taller. Thomas stood on the far side of the clearing, furthest from the river, and peered into the woods, an anxious cast to his posture, while everyone else’s attention was on Father Vytal.</p><p>Sweep nodded. “Let’s go talk to him.”</p><p>The made their way across the clearing, giving wide berth to the large logger loitering nearby, but not too near. They walked close together, taking comfort in each other as they left the immediate proximity of Father Vytal. Sweep tried not to clench her jaw.</p><p>Thomas jumped as he noticed their approach and tried to pretend he hadn’t been peering off into the woods.</p><p>“What’s going on?” Sweep asked, trying to sound calm and confident like Father Vytal, but certain she sounded like a nervous little girl.</p><p>“Nothing,” Thomas replied predictably.</p><p>“There’s something more to all this. Something you’re not telling us.”</p><p>Thomas glanced into the woods and Sweep followed his gaze. She couldn’t see anything, but she had an idea. She closed her eyes, and opened herself to her power. Immediately she could see auras. Temperance’s green and yellow was near and bright, but also near, and not as bright, was Thomas’ orangish yellow and further on, hidden to her normal sight, another orangish yellow. Someone hid in the woods.</p><p>Sweep opened her eyes. “Who is she?”</p><p>Thomas hunched his shoulders and looked away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</p><p>Sweep looked over her shoulder at Father Vytal talking with Dakkon the logger. They argued. Or rather, Dakkon shook his head and grumbled while Father Vytal spoke in measured tones.</p><p>“It doesn’t look too bad,” Sweep said, turning back to Thomas, “But it could become so.” She remembered what she had learned while meditating and shook her head. “No, it will become so. I… I’ve seen both sides’ frustration. I’ve felt it. The tension is ready to burst. Someone will be hurt. You don’t want that, do you Thomas?”</p><p>Thomas shook his head, looking at them reluctantly.</p><p>“Who is she?” Sweep repeated.</p><p>But before he could respond, a tall young woman in leather clothes and a mottle-patterned cloak emerged from the wood, a quiver on her back and bow in her hand. She looked carefully over their heads at Dakkon and Father Vytal.</p><p>“Are you a cleric?” the woman asked, not quite looking at them, casting her gaze this way and that.</p><p>Sweep shook her head. “We’re apprentices to Father Vytal.”</p><p>The woman glanced over their heads again. “He’ll be furious if he sees me. My name is Amelia. I’m Rory’s granddaughter.”</p><p>“Rory the gamewarden? What are you doing sneaking around the logging station?” Sweep asked.</p><p>Temperance squeezed her hand. “They’re in love with each other,” she said.</p><p>Sweep looked at Temperance, confused for a few moments more before she understood. She looked back at Thomas and Amelia. “You’re in love?”</p><p>They looked at each and nodded.</p><p>Sweep shook her head, stunned. “Well, that’ll make it harder.”</p><p>But Temperance shook her head. “It might not. In history, sometimes warring nations would marry their heirs together, combining the nations and stopping the war.”</p><p>Sweep felt a sudden swirl of thoughts from the two. Thomas was stunned at the thought of marrying Amelia, but almost immediately thrilled by it. Amelia, on the other hand, was skeptical their relationship could be more helpful than harmful. The thoughts intruded upon her own, and Sweep tried to hold them at bay. She slipped to her mindspace and pulled her gossamer glass shield over her mind. The outside thoughts were shut out immediately.</p><p>Sweep blinked at the two blearily.</p><p>“I have to go,” Amelia said. “I’ll see you tonight, my love?”</p><p>He nodded. “Of course, dearest.”</p><p>They shared a quick kiss and then she disappeared into the wood.</p><p>Sweep looked at Temperance and both rolled their eyes.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Father Vytal declined Dakkon’s invitation to take luncheon with them.</p><p>“I think we’ll go see the game warden. There’s no sense letting this situation stew any longer than it already has.”</p><p>“He’s a slippery bastard,” Dakkon said. “You’ll not find him if he doesn’t want you to.”</p><p>Father Vytal smiled and nodded. “Even so, we’ll give it a try.”</p><p>Once away from logging station three, Father Vytal asked, “What did you learn from Thomas?”</p><p>Sweep smiled, unsurprised Father Vytal had noticed their clandestine conversation. “Thomas is in love with the game warden’s granddaughter, Amelia.”</p><p>Father Vytal chuckled. “Well that complicates things. Love often does.”</p><p>“Temperance thinks it might provide a solution actually. Like a truce when heirs get married.”</p><p>“Interesting. Very clever, Temperance.”</p><p>Temperance blushed and hunched her shoulders. Sweep nudged her and smiled.</p><p>“Piety, we’re going to search for the game warden and his rangers now. Likely, they’ll see us before we see them. But, we’ve got an advantage.” He tapped his head. “I’m going to lower my mental shield and listen for any thoughts out there. I’m keeping my mind open, just as I might keep my ears open for stray conversation. I imagine, with a little practice, you should be able to do the same.” Then he stopped and gave her a serious look.</p><p>“There’s an ethical concern. Digging through someone’s thoughts without permission is a gross violation of privacy. But sometimes in order to protect someone, you have to know things they’d rather you didn’t.”</p><p>Sweep frowned. “How will I know when it’s all right?”</p><p>“Trust your judgment and the judgment of your peers. I have faith in you.”</p><p>Sweep found it difficult to focus on her telepathy without closing her eyes, and after the third time she stumbled and fell to her knees, even with Temperance guiding her, she replaced her mental shield and let Father Vytal conduct the telepathic search.</p><p>After hiking for nearly an hour, without any logical course Sweep could figure, Father Vytal stopped and said, “Ah. We’re about to have guests.”</p><p>Sweep closed her eyes, slipped to the mindspace, and touched the bowl of water on her desk. In a blink, she could see the orangish yellow auras of three rangers approaching cautiously.</p><p>“Just stay by me,” Father Vytal said. “They don’t mean us any harm.”</p><p>Sweep opened her eyes. One ranger approached openly, short bow in hand but not at the ready.</p><p>“Are you lost, Holy Father?” the ranger asked politely. He was clad in mottled brown and green leather. His hair was short and sensible, his skin darkened with long days in the sun.</p><p>Father Vytal spread his hands. “Not at all. My apprentices and I happened upon the logging station and couldn’t help but hear about their conflict with the local game warden. As a neutral party, I offered to mediate.”</p><p>The ranger stiffened. “The game warden has a contract from Magistrate Putnam himself. The only conflict is in the mind of that block-headed logger.”</p><p>Sweep whispered, “Sounds familiar.”</p><p>“That’s what we intend to find out,” Father Vytal said, giving no indication he’d heard Sweep. “If you’ll escort us to the game warden, I think we can get this sorted out.”</p><p>But the ranger shook his head. “He’s on a long tracking mission. I’m afraid it will be weeks before he’ll be back.”</p><p>“Don’t lie to me, young man,” Father Vytal said, his voice shifting to become grave and stern. “The game warden sits at camp and awaits your report on me.”</p><p>Sweep smiled as the ranger blinked in confusion, and she wondered if she’d be able to read him as Father Vytal did. She leaned into Temperance and grasped her hand. “Don’t let me fall over, all right?”</p><p>“What?” Temperance whispered back.</p><p>Sweep didn’t take the time to explain. She closed her eyes, slipped to her mindspace, and reached for her power, pulling it about her. Immediately she saw the orangish aura of the ranger and his companions, still hidden in the wood. With a breath and a thought, she touched the smooth plane of her mental shield and let it fall.</p><p>The ranger’s thoughts weren’t clear like when she spoke with Temperance, but rather a muted babble, like someone speaking in the room next door. And though she couldn’t pick out individual words, she could tell he was conflicted, both resistant and willing.</p><p>“I don’t need you to show me the way,” Father Vytal said. “Come along, girls.”</p><p>The ranger escorted them though Father Vytal behaved as though he didn’t. Sweep replaced her shield and opened her eyes, but Temperance held on to her hand anyway. It wasn’t long before they entered a small meadow housing a cluster of tents. A grizzled old ranger with short white hair and stubble sat cross-legged outside his tent, bow across his knees, waiting for them. Behind him knelt Amelia, not looking at them.</p><p>The ranger nodded. “Holy Father. I understand you’re here to mediate.”</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>For nearly a week, Father Vytal and his apprentices trekked back and forth between logging station three and wherever the game warden had decided to make camp. Sometimes he switched camps several times in a day, sometimes there was no camp at all, and Sweep got the impression he was testing Father Vytal.</p><p>At each day’s end, they would return to their own small camp and Father Vytal would ask them what they thought about the day’s discussions.</p><p>“They’re stubborn,” Temperance said.</p><p>“So how do we get them to stop being stubborn?” Father Vytal asked.</p><p>“We’ve got to show them if they don’t compromise, they’re going to ruin themselves as much as the other. We have to get them to talk”</p><p>“It’s like Saint Weston and the Burning Willows,” said Sweep. “All the sides in the war lost what they were fighting for because they wouldn’t stop fighting.”</p><p>“But that one ends in tragedy,” Temperance said.</p><p>Sweep nodded. “It’s Saint Weston’s Lament. ‘If I had been decisive, acted sooner, I could have stopped the war before it started.’” She looked at Father Vytal. “I’m not sure what to do, but I think we’re going to have to do it soon.”</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Finally, on the ninth day, Dakkon and Rory agreed to meet in a small clearing by the road on the north side of the river, where the bank was smooth. They had agreed to each bring only three men. They had agreed, at Father Vytal’s insistence, there would be no trickery, sabotage, or violence at the meeting.</p><p>Dakkon and Rory faced each other, the tools of their trades firmly put away. The men they’d brought stood at their backs like bodyguards. Father Vytal, clad in his formal black clothes and white coat and red stole stood between them so he could face them both. Sweep and Temperance stood behind him, hands clasped.</p><p>“Gentlemen, you know this must stop. Someone is going to get hurt, and no one wants that. Furthermore, after examining both manifests, I have come to the conclusion that both are valid.”</p><p>Dakkon and Rory began shouting at once, but Father Vytal held up a hand and the shouting stopped.</p><p>“I know the signature of Magistrate Putnam, both the current and the previous. Dakkon, yours was signed by the current magistrate; Rory, yours by his father.”</p><p>Both men stared agape at Father Vytal, nonplussed. The men at their backs muttered quietly.</p><p>“Furthermore, I’m sure if we work together, here and now, we can work out a mutually beneficial agreement.”</p><p>But Sweep felt an odd tug at her mind, a thought, a memory, an inkling demanding attention. At the same time, Temperance squeezed her hand, leaned in close, and whispered.</p><p>“I think I saw Thomas.”</p><p>“Where?” Sweep whispered back.</p><p>“There, in the woods,” Temperance gestured with a faint nod.</p><p>Dakkon’s deep voice filled the clearing. “Both legitimate,” he rumbled. “Well now, that puts a different spin on it.”</p><p>“And as mine’s older, it holds precedence,” Rory said.</p><p>“As mine’s signed by the current magistrate, mine holds precedence,” Dakkon countered, his claim a bellow.</p><p>Father Vytal interjected. “Not in this case, I’m afraid. Nether manifest dictates a precedence and neither a period of service. Both are valid so long as they’re not invalidated by the current Magistrate Putnam.”</p><p>Sweep closed her eyes and took deep, even breaths. She emptied herself of self and felt her surroundings. She touched her smooth mental shield and let it drop. Immediately, auras filled her vision and mental babble filled her ears, the thoughts so close to being spoken they may as well have been.</p><p>These old fools have been fighting over nothing.</p><p>The old man’s been good to me, I’ll protect his back.</p><p>I don’t trust those shifty bastards, best stay sharp.</p><p>“Piety?”</p><p>“I’m all right,” Sweep whispered back.</p><p>She took another deep breath and tried to sort through the voices and auras. Like sorting through socks, pairing a mental voice with an aura, Sweep laid them aside until she found the pairings she wanted. Temperance was right, Thomas was, indeed, in the woods, and he wasn’t alone. Amelia was with him. They whispered to each other, worried the meeting below would end in disaster.</p><p>“Fools,” Sweep muttered. “They should have let Father Vytal handle it.”</p><p>“What are they doing here?” Temperance whispered.</p><p>“Fretting.”</p><p>A sudden shout broke her concentration, and Sweep staggered, kept upright by Temperance’s arm around her waist.</p><p>“There’s someone in the woods!”</p><p>“Sneak!”</p><p>“Betrayer!”</p><p>She blinked against the chaos. Father Vytal was trying to get Dakkon and Rory to calm, trying to separate them as they’d gotten nose to nose, shouting incoherently. The rangers had drawn arrows pointed at the loggers, the loggers had their axes at the ready.</p><p>“Stop,” Sweep said, her plea lost to the shouting. In the wood behind her, she felt Thomas and Amelia hurrying to the clearing. When they burst through, she knew the rangers and loggers alike would react badly.</p><p>“Stop!” She steadied herself and stood as tall as she could. Temperance released her.</p><p>“Piety?”</p><p>Sweep pulled at her power, like wrapping a blanket tight around her shoulders.</p><p>“Stop!”</p><p>Her voice echoed against the minds of everyone in the clearing, and all but Temperance staggered as through struck physically. They were stunned and outraged, but they stopped and all eyes turned to her.</p><p>Sweep ignored them. She turned instead to the wood where stood Thomas and Amelia, their orange auras shining brighter than the sun, pulsing rapidly with fear, hands held tightly.</p><p>“What is this?” Rory demanded.</p><p>“Shush,” said Sweep. “Listen.”</p><p>Sweep opened herself to the thoughts of Thomas and Amelia. The swirling fear and hope, frustration and love, anger and understanding echoed in her mind and she knew, though she and Temperance might roll their eyes, that Thomas and Amelia were in love. And she pushed their thoughts as hard as she could on those in the clearing and those beyond.</p><p>They did not stagger, but they did lower their weapons.</p><p>Sweep she wasn’t finished. She pulled at the echoes of thought, the anger and hatred and destruction of moments ago and pushed that upon them as well. Reminding them what they had nearly come to.</p><p>“Oh,” said Rory.</p><p>“Well then,” said Dakkon.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>The wedding was three days later. Sweep, tired from her exertion but not exhausted, stood with Temperance in the front row while Father Vytal presided. Loggers and rangers filled the clearing, and they cheered when the bride kissed the groom.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 07</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At a small hostel a day's ride from Riverton, seat of Magistrate Putnam, they sat in the small common room. They were the only guests and the hostler had retired to bed an hour earlier.</p><p>"What do you know of the genesis of creation?"</p><p>Sweep and Temperance looked at each other. Sweep could tell by Temperance's smile that she could still recite the passage from memory and gestured for her to do so.</p><p>"It's one of the parts not attributed to any one Saint," Temperance began. "'In the beginning there was God. And God spoke, and at His word there was light. And on this first day, He created the land and the sky and the sea, three parts of one whole which he named Treyaria.'"</p><p>Father Vytal smiled. "Very good. But would you be surprised if I told you there was another version of the beginning?"</p><p>"One not in the Scriptures?" Sweep asked.</p><p>"It's in an older copy of the Scriptures," Father Vytal said.</p><p>"Is it blasphemy?"</p><p>"Some think so."</p><p>"But not you," Sweep said shrewdly.</p><p>Father Vytal smiled. "In the beginning there was only the void—all and naught, a darkness of light, form without form. And the void was pierced by the three voices of the song of God. The void was shattered into the Twenty-seven Realms, chief among them the Prime Realm, the world as we know it, called Treyaria in honor of His song.</p><p>"The earth and the sky and the sea sprang forth with life, the sun and moon were sent spinning around the world. The stars began their endless dance against the velvet dome of night, describing the pattern of the orbit of the twenty-six other realms and their influence upon Treyaria.</p><p>"And God took rest in the sun to watch the life He had created. To those of good faith, kind works, and pure thoughts, He extended invitation to paradise in the sun. All others He banished to the realm of spirits on the moon.'"</p><p>Several moments of silence followed the recitation.</p><p>"Some of it's the same, but some of it's different," Sweep said. "So which is right?"</p><p>"Only God knows. But the alternate version tells of the Twenty-seven Realms."</p><p>"They're real?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"Will you teach us about them?"</p><p>"Not tonight. When it gets warmer and we can sleep beneath the stars, then I will tell you about them."</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>By the time they reached Riverton, seat of Magistrate Putnam, spring was in full force: flowers opened, birds chorused, bees bumbled. Sweep had known spring before, but the mild warmth of wakening life felt different so far from Sacred Heart. This spring, her first spring free from the Mother Superior, felt more real, more important, more exciting.</p><p>Riverton was far larger than Appledel or any of the other villages they had stopped in on their winding journey along the Grand. A short stone wall surrounded the inner city. The outer city spilled outside the wall like a boiled over pot. The streets were jammed with people. Most had the familiar brown skin, brown hair, and brown eyes of a Khulanty native, but here and there were people with drastically different coloring: tall women with skin so dark it was nearly black dressed in bright reds, oranges, and yellows; and stocky people with yellow hair and pale skin who reminded her of Cook at Sacred Heart.</p><p>"They're river traders," Father Vytal explained. "The Grand River leads all the way to the Eastern Ocean. Kinswell, the capital of Khulanty has an economy based largely on trade with foreign nations. Some traders have the Royal's permission to take riverboats up river as far as Riverton. The dark skinned women are from the Taranaki Empire in the north. The pale skinned people are from the Mountain Kingdom in the south."</p><p>Father Vytal led them through Outer Riverton, past the small houses and shops, and into Inner Riverton. Guards stood at the gate to the wall, clad in leather armor reinforced with metal plates under a tabard bearing a red stag on a green field. Each held a spear to his shoulder and wore a sword at his hip. Father Vytal explained that the red stag was the symbol for Magistrate Putnam's family.</p><p>The guards saluted Father Vytal.</p><p>Magistrate Putnam's enormous house was on a hill near the center of the city. The streets radiated from the house as rays from the sun, as though the entire city were focused on Noble Putnam's house. An expansive yard surrounded the house and was in turn surrounded by a high stone fence. Father Vytal led them to a large, fanciful gate that allowed glimpses onto the delicately tended gardens beyond. The guards at the gate in their red and green tabards saluted smartly. A small man wearing clothes in the colors of Noble Putnam, eyeglasses balanced upon his nose, approached. The small man frowned at them.</p><p>"What business do you have here, peddler?" The small man demanded.</p><p>Sweep was shocked. Except for the Mother Superior, she'd never heard anyone speak to Father Vytal with any tone but respect.</p><p>But Father Vytal just smiled his beatific smile, not in the least perturbed. "Tell the Consort Putnam that Father Tristam Vytal is here to see her."</p><p>The man blinked hard, and Sweep saw his gaze harden. He didn't apologize for his misassumption.</p><p>"The Magistrate isn't here. He's out hunting."</p><p>Father Vytal shrugged. "I'm not here to see him. I'm here to see Consort Putnam."</p><p>The man smiled then, but it was a sly, nasty smile.</p><p>The small man's thoughts were so loud Sweep couldn't help hearing them even through her shield—he assumed Father Vytal's relationship with the Consort Putnam was inappropriate and that he would be able to use it to his advantage. His thoughts spilled about him like curdled milk.</p><p>Sweep shivered and covered her nose. Father Vytal continued to smile. Sweep wondered if he had felt he uncontained thoughts.</p><p>"Yes, of course, Father. I'll have a man show you to a guest chamber where you can wash and rest from your travels." He bowed. His vile thoughts had abated, but Sweep couldn't get the bad taste out of her mouth.</p><p>They were directed to drive the carriage to the stables where a stable master and several stable boys unhitched Steady and prepared him a stall. A young man in the red and green livery of House Putnam led them to a suite of rooms, two stable boys following behind carrying their extra gear.</p><p>Father Vytal suggested they wash first, so Sweep and Temperance went into the small washroom separated from the sitting quarters by a short hallway and a thick curtain. The water was not cold, so they took their time about washing. When they were done, they decided to dress in the nice dresses Catherine had given them. Catherine had insisted on gifting each of the girls with a dress she'd sewn. The people of Kaver's farm made most of their own clothes and Catherine's job was to make clothes for those whose skills lay elsewhere.</p><p>Neither dress fit well, which was little surprise. In the months since leaving Sacred Heart the girls had made many alterations to their clothing: they were all too tight in the shoulders and hips, too short in sleeve and hem. Sweep had noticed Temperance had grown a couple inches taller than her. Though Temperance was two years older, they'd always been the same size and it felt odd that Temperance was now taller.</p><p>So they dressed in their travel clothes and took the nice dresses to the sitting room to alter them while they waited for Father Vytal to take his turn in the washroom.</p><p>Father Vytal emerged from the washroom clad in his clean white coat with high collar decorated with golden sunbursts over black pants and shirt and soft leather boots. The golden edged, scarlet stole lay about his shoulders as evidence of his office. His sunburst rested in sharp contrast against his black shirt.</p><p>"I need to meet with Consort Putnam," he told them.</p><p>"About the purple-eyed woman?" Sweep asked.</p><p>He nodded. "I promise to share whatever information I come across, but I fear it won't be much." He smiled gently. "There is a garden just outside and several books." He gestured at the bookshelf. "I trust you two can stay busy until I return?"</p><p>Sweep nodded, but forestalled his departure. "Sir? I'm worried about the man at the gate."</p><p>"The chief butler," Father Vytal nodded. "Why?"</p><p>"I... I didn't mean to, but I read his mind. It's like he was shouting his thoughts. He means to try to use your relationship with the Consort."</p><p>"Yes. He's an untrained telepath. He probably catches bits of people's thoughts without realizing what he's doing and projects his thoughts when stressed or excited."</p><p>"What do you think he's going to do?"</p><p>"I don't know, but I shall be on guard for it." He straightened his stole. "I'll be back before dinner."</p><p>The girls spent some time finishing their dresses and when they were done, they felt restless. It was still several hours before dinner, so they laid their dresses aside and went for a walk in the gardens. Their sitting room had a pair of double doors that opened onto a short cut lawn and well-trimmed rose bushes. They walked out onto the garden, timid at first, but when a gardener looked up from his work and smiled at them, they relaxed.</p><p>The gardener was a wizened man in dirt-stained clothes and a leather apron with pockets filled with shears and a spade.</p><p>"You're the apprentices of the Holy Father what's just arrived, eh?"</p><p>"How'd you know that?" Sweep asked, keeping a check on her fear—he hadn't threatened them, and they'd done nothing wrong.</p><p>"There are no secrets at Putnam manor from old Tam." He tugged on an earlobe conspiratorially. "I hear every rumor worth hearing." He bent back to his work. "You two move along now. I have work to do and can't be entertaining children all afternoon." Just as though they had addressed him rather than the other way around.</p><p>The two walked on only a few minutes more before Sweep was brought up short by the unexpected sight of a skinny man in workman's clothes and leather apron striding across the garden. It wasn't the clothes that were unexpected but rather who they clad, the chief butler.</p><p>Sweep ducked behind a convenient lilac bush and pulled Temperance along with her. From concealment, they watched the man.</p><p>Temperance put her hand on Sweep's. "Isn't that the man who called Father Vytal a peddler?"</p><p>The skinny man with the balding pate had changed from the red and green livery to plain, ill-fitting workman's clothes like the gardener was wearing. The two watched him walk briskly, almost furtively, to a side gate. He produced a key from the apron's pocket and unlocked the gate, and slipped out.</p><p>Sweep had been so focused on the chief butler, she hadn't heard the old gardener come up behind them until his broken cackle made her jump, her heart leap. Temperance choked back a squeak.</p><p>The old gardener laughed harder, eyes wet with mirth. "So, you've uncovered the master butler's secret." He wheezed as he spoke, a symptom of laughter.</p><p>"Secret?" Sweep asked despite herself.</p><p>"He thinks he keeps it secret, but old Tam knows he's got a lady-on-call out past the walls in Outer Riverton." Tam the gardener winked knowingly.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>By the time evening fell, the girls waited in the sitting room, clad in their fine dresses from Catherine Smith. They sat together on the couch, Temperance reading a book from the bookcase, something about medicinal herbs, Sweep had her eyes closed, a throw pillow clutched to her chest her feet tucked under her. But she wasn't asleep. Instead, she was in the room in her mind, studying the chessboard.</p><p>She knew when Father Vytal returned by the approach of his aura. With a peculiar kind of double vision, she could see both the game of chess she was losing and Father Vytal's silvery purple aura.</p><p>"Are you ready for dinner?" he asked.</p><p>Sweep blinked herself from the mindspace and stood up as Temperance marked her place in the book with a scrap of cloth. As they followed him through the halls, Sweep couldn't help but think that they looked like a pair of peasant girls playing dress up next to Father Vytal and his formal church uniform.</p><p>Dinner was served in a great dining hall, twice the size of Farmer Kaver's. Unlike in the farmer's hall, Father Vytal was not so important a visitor to warrant a seat at the head table. Instead, the three found themselves seated near the end of one of the lower tables. Noble Putnam's chaplain delivered the pre-dinner prayer: a lengthy litany of reasons to be thankful, among them Noble Putnam's successful fox hunt.</p><p>When they sat down to dinner, Temperance muttered, "I like Father Vytal's prayers better."</p><p>"Thank you, Temperance."</p><p>Temperance blushed.</p><p>After a while a servant, a young woman in a simple green dress, approached and asked them what they wanted to eat. Not long after she was gone, a stranger joined them.</p><p>He was a tall man and broad, with an untamed black beard that curled tightly against his jaw. He wore a dark red robe over a simple white shirt and his golden sunburst pendant stood out against that white, marking him a Son of God.</p><p>"I did not expect to see you so close to the seat of power, Councilman."</p><p>"Hello, Jack."</p><p>"Any luck finding the Purple Prophesier?"</p><p>Father Vytal ignored the question. "What brings a Sword of the Church to Riverton? Are you on your way out, or on your way home?"</p><p>"Looking for a distraction, Tristam? You always were one for a good adventure."</p><p>The serving woman came back then, carrying a tray laden with bowls of stew and a plate of biscuits.</p><p>"Is there anything I can get you, Father Shane?" she asked the broad, bearded man.</p><p>"Beer and supper, Molly dear." He smiled at her, and winked. Molly smiled back and giggled before going back to the kitchen.</p><p>"Still partaking of adventures yourself, Jack?"</p><p>Father Shane shrugged. "That's between me and the confessional, Tristam." He shifted his focus then to Temperance and Sweep, who were trying to eat and listen while remaining unobtrusive.</p><p>"Who are the whelps?"</p><p>"My apprentices, Temperance Sunday and Piety Churchstep."</p><p>The girls bowed from their seats at Father Shane.</p><p>"Humph, orphan names. Still taking on charity cases?"</p><p>"They're quite gifted students," Father Vytal went on, as though he hadn't been interrupted. "They've been an invaluable help during some of my... charity cases."</p><p>Father Shane laughed loudly. "Still think you can save the world one broken arm at a time?"</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. "Yes, I suppose I do. And what are you doing to save the world?"</p><p>Father Shane shrugged. "Officially I'm here to advise Noble Putnam on a matter of some brigands hiding in the hills."</p><p>"And unofficially?"</p><p>The warrior priest leaned forward and lowered his bass voice to a whisper. "I'm investigating demon worship."</p><p>Father Vytal raised a questioning eyebrow. "Seriously?"</p><p>"Bah." Father Shane waved dismissively at Father Vytal. "You old skeptic. How can you be a man of God and not believe in demons?"</p><p>Sweep was shocked. That Father Vytal, a Son of God, might not believe in everything the Scriptures described, hadn't occurred to her. But then again, she reminded herself, there was that alternate version describing the genesis of creation. Perhaps there was an alternate story about demons not existing?</p><p>"Have you ever seen a demon?" Father Vytal asked. "In all your assignments for the Church, have you ever seen one?"</p><p>"Just because I haven't seen one doesn't mean they don't exist," Father Shane persisted.</p><p>"I agree," Father Vytal said. "But I have seen demons. I've seen them in the jealous man coveting another man's wealth, in the woman who indebts herself to show off for her neighbors, in the haunted eyes of a man addicted to drink. I have seen men and women who do not struggle against the evil in their hearts. Those are the real demons, Jack."</p><p>Father Shane shifted uneasily. "There's no reason to bring up my drinking, Tristam," he growled, glowering at Father Vytal.</p><p>Molly arrived then, carrying a tray with a bowl of soup and a pitcher of foamy beer. She set it down in front of Father Shane with a wink and a smile. When Father Shane did not return the knowing look, she frowned, then pouted, then stalked away.</p><p>Father Vytal leaned forward, reaching a hand halfway across the table. "I'm sorry, my friend. You are right. You have conquered your demons and I should trust your judgment in such matters."</p><p>Father Shane took a breath and reached out to take Father Vytal's hand. "Thank you, Tristam."</p><p>He turned his attention then to his meal, eating heartily of the stew but only sipping at the beer. Sweep turned her attention to her own meal and Temperance followed suit. Father Vytal and Father Shane chatted about things and people the girls didn't know. The interesting conversation was not resumed until after they'd had their fill and Noble Putnam stood to bid them all goodnight. Soon thereafter, much of the great hall emptied.</p><p>Sweep expected to be tired, but the potential excitement in Father Shane's mission involving demons, kept her alert. Next to her, Temperance looked just as interested.</p><p>"In truth, Tristam, I suspect treason."</p><p>"Noble Putnam has designs on the throne? I wouldn't have thought it of him."</p><p>"Not his Nobleship, the lady."</p><p>"Callista? No, I do not believe that."</p><p>Father Shane shrugged his massive shoulders and swirled the last of his beer in its mug. "You'll believe the best of anyone, even our High Cleric."</p><p>"Don't start, Jack. Marcus Radden is a good man."</p><p>"You never served with him in battle. But you're right, we shouldn't start that again." He tapped his mug against the table, looking thoughtful. "She's a bare slip of a woman, Tristam. I don't want to have to haul her Kinswell for a trial, but I've been watching her. She's acting suspiciously, furtive, nervous. Did you know she goes to secret meetings at least twice a week?"</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. "I do."</p><p>Father Shane laughed quietly. "I shouldn't be surprised. How do you know?"</p><p>"She told me. And if that's your only evidence for suspicion, prepare to look elsewhere."</p><p>"All right then, what has she been doing?"</p><p>Father Vytal frowned. "I can't tell you, Jack. She told me in confidence and as her spiritual advisor, I have sworn to keep her confessions a secret."</p><p>"And I would never ask you to break the seal of confession."</p><p>But Father Shane had a mischievous smile hiding behind his beard, and despite herself, despite that Sweep didn't like how Father Shane had no respect for Father Vytal, she found Father Shane fascinating and was curious what he would do next.</p><p>"So, you say she's not a traitor. She's not really summoning demons, is she?"</p><p>"Jack." Father Vytal's voice held a warning.</p><p>"You don't have to say a word, old friend, your face tells all."</p><p>"Jack, don't do this."</p><p>"Perhaps our dear Consort Putnam is a smuggler?"</p><p>Father Vytal frowned and sat back in his chair. He crossed his arms and his face went blank.</p><p>"Salve trade?"</p><p>"There's no slave trade in Khulanty."</p><p>"Don't pretend to naiveté, Tristam. It doesn't suit you. And I'll not be distracted. Does she have gambling debts? No. Taken up with one of those fanatical cults? A dalliance with a nice young man?"</p><p>Whatever it was that changed about Father Vytal's expression, whatever it was that gave away the secret, Sweep didn't see it. But Father Shane did.</p><p>"Really? Little Callie Cross is an adulterer?" Father Shane's expression had lost its mischievousness in favor of grave concern.</p><p>"Callista is a young woman in an arranged marriage who has always loved someone else."</p><p>"God's Beard, Tristam. You are a hopeless romantic."</p><p>"I'm a counselor and friend to Consort Callista Putnam nee Cross. And I'll thank you not to blaspheme in front of the children." Father Vytal nodded pointedly at Temperance and Sweep.</p><p>Sweep blushed.</p><p>Father Shane looked at them as though he'd forgotten they were there. Sweep had been unabashedly watching the conversation unfold but now felt as though she'd been caught intruding.</p><p>"My apologies, young acolytes." Father Shane bowed his head solemnly.</p><p>Sweep blushed further, not least for being mistaken for an acolyte.</p><p>Father Shane smiled gently at them before turning back to Father Vytal. "So where does that leave us, Tristam?"</p><p>"I don't know where it leaves you, Jack, but I'll be staying here a while to council Consort Putnam. Your search for demons and traitors is none of my affair."</p><p>"Bah! What happened to your sense of adventure?"</p><p>Father Vytal stood and bowed to Father Shane. "Good night, Jack."</p><p>Sweep and Temperance stood as well.</p><p>Father Shane spread his hands. "Oh come on, Tristam, don't be mad. Besides, you can't tell me you're not worried about a potential traitor. You've got more invested in the royal family than anyone not Royal. For their sake you might try to help me a bit."</p><p>Sweep almost spoke. She almost told the clerics about the chief butler skulking around the gardens. But she was just a little girl; surely Father Shane would have already investigated the butler. It would be presumptuous to suggest otherwise. So she hesitated.</p><p>"We can talk more in the morning," Father Vytal said.</p><p>Sweep and Temperance clasped hands and followed Father Vytal from the dining hall.</p><p>"Which do you think it is: demons or traitors?" Sweep asked telepathically.</p><p>"I think Father Vytal's right. I've never seen or heard of anyone seeing a demon in real life. Not in modern times anyway." Temperance's voice was clear, like she spoke aloud.</p><p>"Do you think Father Vytal is going to find the traitors? Do you think he'll let us help?"</p><p>Temperance shivered. "Sounds dangerous."</p><p>"What do you think of Father Shane? I never expected a cleric to act like that."</p><p>"He's a Sword of the Church. They're given some leeway, or so I've read."</p><p>They chatted telepathically all the way back to their room and into the night.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>White chalk on shiny black stone inscribed a circle crossed with lines and lined with markings she did not understand. She stood in the center of it, waiting, though for what she could not remember. Above, the sky was black pinpointed with shimmering stars. And from within her welled an uncomfortable swell, as though she had lost control of her power, as though the comforting well of still water bubbled like a pot too long on the stove.</p><p>She took a deep breath and tried to calm her thoughts and, in turn, the well of power.</p><p>Around her, the chalk markings glowed. Dimly at first, but quickly intensifying into a bright light that shone off the black stone and lit the sky, obscuring the stars. But it was within the shadows between the lines she focused her attention. And from those shadows, figures emerged: the crook of an elbow, the swell of a back, the glint of an eye. The sudden stench struck her like a gusty wind, plugging her nose and mouth and eyes, and she gagged.</p><p>The light dimmed, faded to nothing and was again just chalk, but the creatures had been summoned. She could see them clearly now, in the starlight, pale, starving creatures that once were human, shambling on paper-dry feet, raising ragged hands like claws, reaching for her. She could feel their thoughts. They were consumed with hunger, a pain that drove them to seek sweet warmth within a living body. And she knew they could smell her, could smell the blood within. She knew no matter how far she ran they would follow that smell.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>"Piety?"</p><p>Sweep had her back pressed hard against the wall. Her eyes were wide looking for any sign of the demons with rotting flesh. Temperance sat upon the bed, staring at her through the shadows.</p><p>"Piety? Did you have a bad dream?"</p><p>Sweep nodded, but stayed pressed against the wall. The creatures in the dream had exuded rank thoughts that made her shoulders itch like stale breadcrumbs in the bed sheets or rotten meat lingering in the corner.</p><p>Temperance struck a match, producing a brief flash and sulfur stink. The light and smell helped banish the dream. Temperance lit three small candles on the bedside table, then slid off the bed and walked to Sweep. She put her hands on Sweep's shoulders.</p><p>"Piety?"</p><p>"I'm fine. It was a dream."</p><p>"About..."</p><p>"No," Sweep interrupted. "No, it was, do you remember Saint Esther and the Dread Necromancer?"</p><p>"Sure. Saint Esther defeats a necromancer from the north."</p><p>"I was... in my dream... there were rotting demons," Sweep shivered.</p><p>"Yuck. And a dread necromancer?"</p><p>Sweep nodded. "It was me."</p><p>Temperance laughed, not the sort of comfort Sweep was looking for.</p><p>"I'm sorry, I shouldn't laugh at you, but there's no way you could be a necromancer."</p><p>Sweep smiled and a small chuckle escaped her lips.</p><p>Temperance nodded. "That's better. Why don't you come back to bed?"</p><p>Sweep nodded though it was several moments more before she could push herself away from the wall. Temperance waited patiently, quietly.</p><p>Once Sweep was sitting on the bed, after Temperance had blown out the candles, a noise caught Sweep's attention; the muffled creek of rusty hinges.</p><p>"Did you hear that?" Sweep asked.</p><p>"Hear what?"</p><p>But Sweep was already creeping through the shadowed room to the window, the dream banished.</p><p>The moon shone brightly on the garden beyond, and Sweep could make out the small garden shed and the glow of a candle flame from within.</p><p>"What's going on?" Temperance whispered as she approached Sweep's shoulder.</p><p>"I don't know."</p><p>But a few minutes on, they saw the chief butler emerge from the storage shed, clad in his workman's clothes. He looked around and Sweep froze, Temperance gasped, but he didn't seem to see them. Then he headed into the garden.</p><p>"He's probably going to that side gate we saw him at earlier today," said Sweep.</p><p>"I wonder what he's doing."</p><p>Sweep was gripped by sudden resolve. Father Shane was looking for a traitor, and Sweep suspected the butler. Earlier she had said nothing because she'd been afraid of being presumptuous. But now she saw an opportunity to gather some proof to present to the Sons of God.</p><p>"Let's follow him."</p><p>"What? No, it's too dangerous. Besides, he's probably just going to see his lady-on-call."</p><p>"You don't have to, but I'm going."</p><p>The window opened easily and silently. Sweep pushed herself upon the sill and dropped onto the other side, the flagstone by the wall was cold on her bare feet. She took a moment to search for the man and found she could just see the candle lantern bobbing through the bushes. He was probably already at the gate. She hurried after.</p><p>"Piety!" Temperance whisper-yelled.</p><p>Sweep paused to look over her shoulder. Temperance hurried after her, carrying a pair of slippers, her own already on her feet. Sweep smiled.</p><p>Moments later, they crouched behind the same bush as when Tam the gardener had spoken to them just that morning. The chill of the spring night tickled Sweep's legs under her nightdress. Next to her, Temperance rubbed her arms through her sleeves. The butler stood at the side gate in the garden wall, his candle lantern gripped in one hand. There was someone on the other side of the gate and the two conversed. The butler occasionally gestured emphatically.</p><p>"What are they saying?" Temperance asked.</p><p>Sweep shrugged. "I can't hear them."</p><p>"Can't you..." Temperance tapped her head.</p><p>"I'm not supposed to read minds without permission."</p><p>"I thought we suspected him of treason. Not reading his mind might get a lot of people hurt."</p><p>Temperance was right. Father Vytal had told her to trust her judgment. If she could stop one man from hurting many others, a bit of telepathic snooping was warranted.</p><p>Sweep took a breath and closed her eyes and a moment later she had achieved the calm she needed to touch the still well of power within her. Then she spread her awareness, like spreading a blanket upon the ground. She could see the people in her mind's eye as faintly glowing light. She focused on the butler, a dark red and sharp white aura, and his thoughts opened to her.</p><p>Yes, you fool, bring your filthy marauders around to this gate, yes this gate and don't worry about them, once I'm Magistrate of Riverton the guard will answer to me and we'll round them up and put them back in that prison where they belong. Yes, tell them they may have whatever women they like. But not the Consort Putnam, that luscious little slut belongs to me. No! Now, you blithering idiot! I've taken care of the guards, poison in a kindly flask of tea. Just a touch bitter you see. Yes, now, bring them now. You may tell the insatiable brute there are a pair of girls that will be to his liking just beyond the lilac hedge.</p><p>Sweep wrenched her thoughts from the chief butler's mind with a despairing cry. Her head hurt and her stomach roiled. She fell to her hands and knees and vomited.</p><p>"Piety, Piety please get up. He's coming this way. There are men with him. Get up! Get up!"</p><p>Sweep struggled to her feet. Temperance had a hold of her hand and dragged her through the garden, toward their window. But Sweep could hear heavy whispers and booted footfalls gaining ground on them. When she was grabbed around the waist and lifted her off the ground, she screamed—but only for a moment, because a thick-fingered, heavily-callused hand covered her face, muffling her voice. She tried to bite him but he didn't seem to notice. She squirmed and kicked, but the man held her fast. She was trapped.</p><p>"Little wench," growled her captor, voice rumbling against her back through his chest.</p><p>"Just gut her and leave her, we're supposed to be raiding the place right? What's one more dead serving brat?" The new voice was thin and oily.</p><p>"Mine. He said they was mine."</p><p>"Right, fine, whatever. Just be quick about it. We've got a job to do."</p><p>"Give me the other one too."</p><p>"Gods Wounds, Raimy. Why—"</p><p>"Give her!"</p><p>The man's shout rang in Sweep's ears and his embrace tightened, squeezing the air from her. He removed his hand from her mouth, but she couldn't scream. She couldn't think. She could only blink in the moonlight. Temperance whimpered somewhere to Sweep's left and below her, but Sweep couldn't make herself turn to look for her. All she could do was hang rigid in the man's grip, held tight to his chest.</p><p>"Be quiet you idiot. Do you want to bring the guards down on us?"</p><p>But the large man holding Sweep didn't respond. He was walking now. He was walking back the way Sweep and Temperance had come from, where the window to their bedroom stood open. Seeing that open window reminded her Father Vytal wasn't far away, and Sweep hoped that if she screamed loud enough, Father Vytal might hear and come to their rescue. But with the man still holding her as he was, he'd be able to cut off any shout just by squeezing. So she waited.</p><p>"Piety, call to Father Vytal," Temperance said, her voice strained with fear.</p><p>"Quiet," rumbled the man, "or I'll break your arm."</p><p>Temperance whimpered piteously</p><p>Sweep almost discarded the suggestion because, as she'd just reasoned, shouting would only get her squeezed; she'd have to wait until the man set her down before she shouted. But, of course, that wasn't what Temperance had meant, and it took Sweep several moments before she realized it. In her panic, she'd forgotten the room in her mind and the well of power. She closed her eyes, slowed her breathing, and imagined a small room with a grey chair patterned in black and white and a full bookcase and a desk bearing a quill, a pot of ink, and a pack of playing cards.</p><p>And she was calm. And from her calm, Sweep could reach her power. She sought out Father Vytal with her telepathy and she shouted. She did not shout in words, but in pictures. She pictured the butler and his thoughts, she pictured her capture and Temperance's, and she sent a desperate, wordless cry for help.</p><p>When the breath was knocked from her, she lost her calm, lost her hold on her power, and her mind shattered like a dropped mixing bowl. She lay still, unmoving, unable to access the world around her, caught in her broken thoughts, without trying to put them back together again.</p><p>She was worried about Temperance; her friend was in trouble, but the spring garden smelled of grass and earth and water. And the stars spun madly above her head though surely she must be still as the water soaked through the back of her nightdress. But dreams of chessmen chased nightmares crawling from the shadows with papery skin and sharp fingers and insatiable hunger. And she screamed.</p><p>The man struck her across the face, cutting off her scream. Sweep was brought back into herself. She remembered where she was and that she was in immediate danger. She lay on her back, the man standing over her. He was a hairy brute, coarse black hair covering his cheeks, chin, neck and his bare, tree-trunk-like arms. His eyes were open wide, his lips between his teeth making his beard bristle.</p><p>He held a knife.</p><p>There were shouts: surprise, anger, pain. Metal clashed. And the man looked away. Sweep didn't wait. She rolled to her left and scrambled away, praying the man would be distracted long enough for her to escape. She was almost to her feet when he grasped her ankle and she fell with a pained cry.</p><p>"Mine!"</p><p>Sweep kicked blindly. She felt her right heel connect and her ankle was released. She got to her feet, but her left ankle was sore and she almost fell again. Someone grabbed her from behind and she almost struck out.</p><p>"Piety, it's me."</p><p>Temperance's voice provided a flood of relief, and Sweep almost fell again. Leaning on Temperance's shoulder, she managed to get to the manor house wall.</p><p>"Think you can climb in?"</p><p>Sweep looked at Temperance, confused, and blinked slowly. Temperance pointed and Sweep saw an open window, the window to their room. It seemed like forever ago that they'd snuck into the garden. Then she nodded. Despite her affirmation, Sweep couldn't manage it on her own. Temperance gave her a boost up and through, climbed in after her, then closed and locked the window.</p><p>Even from within their bedroom, they could hear the sounds of armed skirmish. They huddled together on the bed, holding each other tightly. Sweep struggled against the relief flooding her with exhaustion, struggled to keep her eyes open, struggled to keep her body alert, but even as the sounds of fighting erupted and died away and erupted again, she felt safe next to Temperance, like a secure harbor in a storm, like a hearthfire during a blizzard.</p><p>She was awoken by a firm knock at the bedroom door.</p><p>Sweep sat up in bed and found herself alone. Sunlight streamed in the window. There were no sounds of combat.</p><p>The knock came again.</p><p>"Just a minute," Sweep called. She slipped out of bed and replaced the covers so the bed looked neat. Then she found her travel clothes still folded and stacked in the wardrobe. She pulled on the clothes and brushed her hair back from her face. Presentable, she opened the door. Father Vytal stood on the other side clad in simple grey pants and a white tunic. Temperance and Father Shane sat in the common room behind him.</p><p>"Congratulations, Piety. You saved House Putnam. Care to join us for luncheon?"</p><p>"I slept until noon?"</p><p>Father Vytal put a hand on her shoulder and guided her into the suite's common room. "Your psychic shout woke the entire household. You probably didn't exhaust yourself as you did at Rauf's farm, but I thought it best you get some extra sleep."</p><p>Sweep sat next to Temperance on the red and cream patterned couch and availed herself of the rolled ham slices and spicy mustard. "So, it wasn't Consort Putnam after all?"</p><p>"No," said Father Shane, cracker crumbs stuck in his beard. "Tristam was right on that account. It was the butler, which is cliché."</p><p>"Indeed," added Father Vytal. "Your decision to follow the butler last night saved us all. He had quite a horde of brigands ready to storm the manor house."</p><p>"It was dangerous is what it was," Father Shane barked. "What in all nine hells were you thinking? What did you think you were going to do? You should have woken me or Tristam. I'd smack your little bottoms except Tristam would object."</p><p>"Strongly object," said Father Vytal firmly.</p><p>"He wouldn't really do it," Temperance confided quietly. "He's been grumbling at me all morning. He was just worried about us."</p><p>Father Shane grunted.</p><p>"Why are you so sour, old friend? You've caught your traitor and not a demon in sight."</p><p>Sweep poured herself some tea and indulged in some sugar. She realized she preferred tea with lots of sugar and only moderated herself out of habit Temperance offered her a small bowl of stewed vegetables and she took it with a smile. All the while, Father Shane munched at his lunch and didn't say anything. But Father Vytal was patient and his patience won out.</p><p>"David, the butler's name is David, confessed last night that he'd been given money to pay for those sad excuse for mercenaries. He said the money came from the south, a merchant who operates out of Sunslance in Kempenny Province. Says they call themselves the Alicorn Raiders."</p><p>"I see," said Father Vytal. "So now you go hunting demons in Kempenny?"</p><p>"Indeed. I told you they were real, Tristam. Thing is, I was going there anyway. The mayor sent a request to the Church Council and I am to go to Sunslance just as soon as I'm done in Riverton."</p><p>"I think I shall come with you, Jack."</p><p>Father Shane smiled. "So, you do still have a taste for adventure. We can get an escort to take these brats to Kinswell and be off tomorrow morning."</p><p>"No," said Sweep at the same time Temperance said, "We're going too."</p><p>Father Shane chuckled. "You can't be serious, girls. Don't you remember what happened last night?"</p><p>Sweep cleared her throat uncomfortably. "What happened to him? The one who..." The moon-silver knife flashed in her memory. "Was he captured?"</p><p>"He's dead," Father Shane said bleakly. "And going to Sunslance is going to be just as dangerous."</p><p>"No Jack, they're right. They'll be coming with me."</p><p>Father Shane stood and clenched his fists at his side. "You can't be serious, Tristam. They're children by God's Eyes. We can't take them on what may well be a deadly mission. What happens if they're attacked again?"</p><p>"Have you heard the rumors coming out of Kempenny Province lately?"</p><p>Father Shane shook his head. "Just the usual stuff. Governor Kempenny is a dark witch. She's drinking the blood of her people and so on. What has this got to do with anything?"</p><p>"I hear rumors too, Jack. Rumors are that Kempenny's raised a real army and that their general is a girl little older than my apprentices. If a girl can be a leader of soldiers, then a girl can go to investigate her. They're coming with me, Jack, and I'm going to Sunslance."</p><p>Father Shane relaxed just a bit, his shoulders no longer taught, his fists no longer white-knuckled, and he cocked his head at Father Vytal.</p><p>"What do you know that I don't, old man?"</p><p>Father Vytal smiled. "A great many things, old friend."</p><p>• • •</p><p>They spent a week at House Putnam's manor house. Father Shane groused and stomped and mostly stayed to himself. Father Vytal spent several hours a day cloistered with the Nobles Putnam, but he wouldn't talk about what was said in those private meetings. Sweep and Temperance spent much of their time in the suite. Often, Temperance would wander the gardens and talk with the gardeners.</p><p>When she was alone, Sweep went to the room in her mind. There, while playing cards or sitting with a book in her lap or considering her next chess move, she thought about what had almost happened in the garden. The man called Raimy had meant to kill her. And she couldn't help but think the Mother Superior had warned her about this, about the world outside the walls of Sacred Heart and how dangerous it was.</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 08</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Night's stillness shrouded Riverton as they rode out of town. Sweep sat nervously on the saddle, the reins in her hands, for all the good they did. Temperance sat behind her, arms firmly around Sweep's waist. Before them, Father Shane and Father Vytal rode with practiced ease. Steady the Donkey's lead was attached to Father Shane's saddle and his packsaddles were laden with supplies. He kept up his even pace without complaint.</p><p>Sweep and Temperance had looked at each other with uncertainty when presented with the riding animal, but Father Shane had simply lifted each girl onto the saddle. As Sweep had ended up in front, he'd handed her the reins, and off they went. Sitting astride the beast pushed her dress up to her knees, making her glad for the stockings Temperance insisted she wear.</p><p>They were mounted on horses of high quality, or so Father Shane had told them. He'd wanted Father Vytal to sell Steady and the cart, but Temperance had objected and Father Vytal had sided with her.</p><p>"We could use a pack donkey. Besides, I've grown fond of him."</p><p>Father Shane gave a disgusted snort but didn't push the issue.</p><p>Father Vytal sold the cart.</p><p>Father Shane wore a set of leather armor sewn with metal plates lacquered red. He also carried a variety of weapons including a large, two-handed sword, a heavy mace, two short swords and several daggers. As a Sword of the Church, an investigator, adjudicator, and warrior at the behest of the Church Council, he was well prepared for mayhem.</p><p>By the time Riverton lay well behind them, Sweep's reservations about riding a horse were born out. The awkward, bouncy gait of the horse smacked the saddle into her backside over and over again, and her thighs were soon sore from gripping the horse's body. They didn't stop for lunch, but ate dried meat and crusty bread in the saddle. By the end of the first day, she was bruised and aching and Temperance complained of the same. That night, before bed, Sweep eased the pain of their saddle-sore muscles with a bit of healing power. It seemed like cheating, so they didn't tell the Fathers.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>The road south was well maintained and heavily traveled at first. The four of them stayed at inns some nights and slept under the stars others. Father Vytal stayed true to his promise, teaching his apprentices to recognize constellations and take their bearing from the stars, which lead to stories of the Twenty-seven Realms.</p><p>"Didn't I promise to tell you about the Realms?"</p><p>Sweep and Temperance nodded. They sat on a fallen tree Father Shane had dragged into camp. Father Shane sat cross-legged in front of his tent, maintaining his weapons and armor, lending a strong scent of oil to the camp. He sharpened a short sword with a smooth, steady grace.</p><p>"The Twenty-seven Realms," said Father Vytal, his voice taking on the resonant tone it often did when he spoke on such matters, "Were created when the trine-voice of God shattered the void. The Prime Realm, what we call Treyaria, is the Universe as we know it. It is the anchor of reality. The other twenty-six Realms orbit the Prime Realm as though it were the hub of an invisible wheel, and they, in turn, influence the Prime Realm. There are three categories of the other realms: foundational, civilized, and aetheric.</p><p>"The Foundational Realms – Body, Mind, and Soul – are in constant intersect with each other and the Prime Realm. They are the spark of life within the universe. Every living being of the Prime Realm is a unique balance of Body, Mind, and Soul. The Foundational Realms cannot be visited because they're always intersecting with the Prime Realm. Said another way, visiting the Prime Realm is the same as visiting the Foundational Realms.</p><p>"The twenty-one Civilized Realms are home to all manner of denizens, each with its own set of rules for reality. They are as strange and varied as one might imagine. One of them Intersects with the Prime Realm every few years.</p><p>"The Aetheric Realms – Light and Dark – are dichotomous and complementary, each dependent upon the other. The Realm of Light is a place of energy and warmth and movement. The Realm of Dark is a place of quiet and coolness and peace. The balance of the Aetheric Realms creates the Twilight Intersect. They are outer orbiting, occasionally Intersecting with the Civilized Realms and rarely Intersecting with the Prime Realm."</p><p>Father Vytal fell silent. The crackle of fire filled the void, punctuated by Father Shane's careful sword-sharpening.</p><p>Eventually, Temperance cleared her throat and Father Vytal nodded at her. "What happens when one of these Realms... um... Intersects with us? With Treyaria?"</p><p>Father Vytal smiled. "The Foundational Realms constantly intersect and the Aetheric Realms Intersect so rarely there is no reliable record. But when the Civilized Realms Intersect, it has significant influence and sometimes gateways between the Realms open."</p><p>"And the intersections are predicted by the stars?</p><p>"They are. In fact, a rare Intersect is predicted for couple years from now. The Intersect of the Aetheric Realms – Light and Dark – is expected to Intersect the Prime Realm. That the Twilight Intersect, and not the actual Realms of Light or Dark, is expected to Intersect... It will be something to behold." He paused, blinked, and refocused his attention on Piety and Temprance. "Would you like to see it?"</p><p>"Bah!" Father Shane interrupted. "You're filling their heads with superstition, Tristam."</p><p>Father Vytal's expression firmed and he looked at Father Shane. "You, who talks of demons as a cover for investigating treason, accuses me of superstition?"</p><p>Father Shane snorted. "Have you ever seen a so-called Intersection?"</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. "I have."</p><p>Father Shane stopped sharpening his sword mid-stroke. "You have?"</p><p>Father Vytal allowed himself a small smiled. "Would you like to hear about it?"</p><p>Father Shane hesitated for several moments. The sounds of night creatures—insects chirping, birds fluttering—filled the silence.</p><p>"Bah!" Father Shane said again, and returned his attention to his sword.</p><p>"I'd like to hear about it," said Temperance.</p><p>Father Vytal smiled and returned his gaze to his apprentices. "Truly, there is little to tell. It was about ten years ago in the lands to the west, at the edge of the great desert. There were five of us, all interested in the Realms, and we had calculated the time and place of Intersection of the Dream Realm based upon the stars and on old testimonies. We were right.</p><p>"I'd been having strange dreams for weeks, vivid dreams that woke me laughing and crying. We all had. And when it appeared, just before night fell on the desert, a great hole opened in the sky and it stretched like a bowl on its side until it just touched the ground. I don't know what I saw, not precisely, it was a jumble of images. And on the other side stood a man with white skin and black eyes and he held a book in his hands. And he winked at me."</p><p>"He winked?" demanded Father Shane. "You're teasing us."</p><p>"I'm not. The man winked at me. At all of us I suppose. And then Keith, the eldest, he walked toward the hole, and he stepped through. Next thing we know, we're all waking up the next morning like none of it had happened."</p><p>"Like it was a dream," said Temperance.</p><p>"Precisely."</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Everyone helped with the chores of setting up and breaking camp. But on the third night, Father Shane noticed Sweep would have nothing to do with preparing meals.</p><p>"How come you don't have to help cook, brat?" Father Shane growled.</p><p>"Because any time I do, the meal goes horribly wrong. Even if all I do is mix flour or peel potatoes."</p><p>Father Shane gave her a steady look as he ground herbs in one of Father Vytal's mortar and pestle sets. "Like a curse? That's a cute way to get out of doing some chores. But it won't work with me."</p><p>Sweep shrugged. "I don't care to get out of chores. I'll clean all the dishes after dinner if you like. But I can't help with the preparation."</p><p>"Leave her be, Jack." Father Vytal came to her rescue. "I don't know what it is, but she's right."</p><p>"You're too soft, Tristam. Make her stir the soup or something."</p><p>"Jack—"</p><p>But Sweep interrupted. "It's all right, Father Vytal. He won't believe us until he sees it for himself. I'll stir the soup."</p><p>The soup was inedible. Sweep and Father Vytal spat it out after one taste of burnt ashes and far too much pepper. Temperance didn't even bother to try it. "I know better," she explained. But Father Shane claimed it wasn't all that bad and he'd be damned if he let that much food go to waste. He ate the soup while the others stuck to hard bread and cheese.</p><p>"A bit... peppery, but not bad. You see?" He gave Sweep the full force of his certainty and patted his stomach. "No disaster."</p><p>Sweep was woken from her sleep a few hours later by a horrible groaning. Concerned she exited the tent she shared with Temperance, wrapping a blanket around her shoulders to ward off night's chill. She found Father Vytal standing several strides away from camp, and beyond was a hulking shadow bent double. The groaning came from the shadow.</p><p>"We tried to warn you, old friend."</p><p>Father Shane waved one hand weakly, his arm a shadow in the night. "Don't."</p><p>"I could heal..." Father Vytal's offer was interrupted by a horrible retching.</p><p>When he was done, Father Shane spat twice then took a deep breath. "Your brat poisoned me, Tristam."</p><p>"I'm beginning to think she really is cursed. You'll remember none of us ate the soup. You insisted."</p><p>"Enough Tristam. I'm being punished enough, I don't need you..."</p><p>Father Shane stopped and took several deep breaths, but it didn't help. Sweep slipped back into the tent before the retching continued.</p><p>Temperance was awake and sitting up when Sweep entered.</p><p>"What happened?"</p><p>"I think Father Shane believes us now."</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>After several days' travel, they saw fewer merchants and farmers and travelers, and after a full week, they had the road to themselves.</p><p>Still a day's travel from Sunslance, by Father Shane's reckoning, they made camp well off the road in a small glen that already had a fire pit. They set camp and attended chores. As evening settled, Sweep altered one of Temperance's dresses. Temperance examined a flower Father Vytal had asked her to evaluate. Father Shane used the firelight to maintain his weapons and armor, which seemed to be his default state.</p><p>"We're in Kempenny Province now," Father Shane said, looking up from his short sword. "Have you girls heard the stories about Governor Kempenny?"</p><p>Sweep shook her head absently, concentrating on her work.</p><p>Temperance said, "No, sir, except for what you've said. The Governor is a witch?"</p><p>Father Shane chuckled. "It's cute how they keep calling us 'sir.' I didn't think you were one for formality, Tristam."</p><p>"I'm not," Father Vytal replied. "They were brought up strictly and consider it proper address."</p><p>Father Shane laughed again. "Anyway, the Governor Kempenny. Like you said, she's a witch. She commands black magic. Or so I've heard it said."</p><p>"Magic is a tool, Jack," Father Vytal replied. "Just as the Realm of Light is not good and the Realm of Dark is not evil, neither is magic."</p><p>"Well," conceded Father Shane, "You are the resident expert in powers and magic and whatnot. But even so, there are strange stories coming out of Kempenny Province lately. More than just this demon nonsense."</p><p>"So," said Sweep absently, "You admit demons don't exist." She knotted her thread and cut off the excess with a small pair of scissors.</p><p>"What?" Father Shane looked at her, frowning, brows drawn.</p><p>"Back in Riverton, you argued with Father Vytal about the existence of demons, and now you're admitting it's nonsense."</p><p>"Brat, you're having a conversation that ended weeks ago."</p><p>Sweep shrugged but smiled. She was beginning to understand Father Shane; he liked to argue about anything and everything and from any point of view. He'd argue about the color of the sky if he thought he'd get some fun out of it.</p><p>"Humph. As I was saying, rumors have it that Governor Kempenny is a witch. They say she sneaks into nurseries and steals babies, that she makes cow's milk go sour and chickens refuse to lay eggs."</p><p>Sweep watched Father Vytal take the bait. "Are we to blame her now for too much rain or too little? These are the same complaints laid at the feet of outsiders by every group of xenophobic, superstitious folk I've met all over Khulanty and beyond. Erin's feud with the Royals is well known. She's the outsider, so the superstitious make up stories about her. They're old stories with a new skin. You're making Kempenny Province sound like something out of a campfire story," Father Vytal admonished.</p><p>Father Shane grinned at Father Vytal like he was about to do something mischievous. "You're such a skeptic," he admonished. "I suppose you've told your apprentices about how you don't believe in God? Have you converted them into atheists yet?"</p><p>Sweep looked up from her sewing, accidently sticking herself with the needle. Instinctively, she reached for her power and the small wound closed.</p><p>"What?" Temperance demanded.</p><p>Father Vytal sighed and glared at Father Shane. "You are a rabble rouser, you know that, Jack?"</p><p>Father Shane smiled behind his scraggly beard. "I do."</p><p>Father Vytal shook his head then addressed his apprentices, who looked at him, eyes wide and jaws slack. "If you will recall our discussions of the Scriptures, I have constantly questioned the easy interpretations. I have insisted that the message of the Scriptures is complex and requires much thought to fully understand, have I not?"</p><p>Both girls nodded and Sweep felt her initial panic at Father Shane's accusation wane. Again, the broad cleric was playing a game, trying to stir up a bit of fun.</p><p>"When I was much younger and bolder," Father Vytal continued, "I posited that God, as we talk about Him, does not exist. I wrote a paper wherein I argued that God was not some grey-bearded old man living in the sun as though the sun were some kind of manor house."</p><p>"You've got a grey beard, Tristam," Father Shane interrupted.</p><p>Father Vytal shot his compatriot a scathing glance. "Quiet, you."</p><p>Father Shane chuckled merrily, as though he'd won some contest.</p><p>"Instead, I suggested God could not be defined in terms of humans and mortals."</p><p>Sweep looked at Father Shane who winked at her. She looked back at Father Vytal. "Then what is God?"</p><p>Father Vytal shrugged. "I don't know. That's part of the problem. If He's not a very powerful man living in the sun, I don't know what He is and I don't know how to describe Him."</p><p>"But then, how do you know He's real?" asked Temperance.</p><p>Father Vytal smiled. "I know because I have felt His presence when I pray. I look at the wonder around me, the beauty of creation, and I know it is His design."</p><p>Sweep nodded absently, trying to process everything Father Vytal had said.</p><p>"Anyway," said Father Vytal, "this is a conversation better suited to several days. We can't have a proper discussion all in one night. Besides, Jack is just trying to frighten you with tales of skeptics because his scary stories about Governor Erin Kempenny weren't working."</p><p>Father Shane chuckled again. "Bah. Your godlessness and Kempenny's witchery are nothing. The scary part is the potential of rebellion, or even secession."</p><p>Father Vytal nodded sadly. "After a hundred years, do you really think Kempenny might try to secede?"</p><p>"I don't know what she's planning, but you know how bitter Erin was when Sean picked Maggie instead of her."</p><p>A sudden piercing wail echoed through the trees, silencing the discussion. It was unlike any animal noise Sweep had heard. In fact, it sounded almost human, pitiful even, but with a growling undertone of malice.</p><p>"Speak of demons," Father Shane whispered, his grip on the sword he'd been sharpening tightened.</p><p>"Father Shane, perhaps you want to put your armor on."</p><p>Father Vytal phrased it as a suggestion, but it sounded like an order and Father Shane was quick to nod his agreement. He stood and began to shrug into the leather and metal clothes.</p><p>"Piety," said Father Shane, "Come help me."</p><p>Sweep hurried to the large cleric. The armor was designed so a person could put it on without help, but having help made it faster. Father Shane had insisted on teaching the girls how the straps and clasps went together, though Father Vytal had said apprentices didn't need to know the trappings of war. Now Sweep was glad Father Shane had insisted.</p><p>As she buckled one of the straps on the breast plate, she considered Father Shane's use of her name. Usually he called her "child" or more often "brat". But Father Vytal had introduced her to Father Shane as Piety Churchstep, not Sweep. Father Shane didn't know she had ever gone by any other name. In fact, nobody called her Sweep anymore, she hadn't heard the name for months. Even so, she had trouble thinking of herself as anything.</p><p>"Piety, pay attention," Father Shane barked in a whisper.</p><p>Sweep took hold of the strap he was pointing too, ducking her head in apology but not speaking. His whisper had cautioned her to be quiet. When she finished helping Father Shane into his armor, he drew a short sword and held it down at his side. The fire glinted off his red-lacquered armor, making him seem to shine with a holy light, which, Sweep supposed, was the point.</p><p>Father Vytal waved to her and Sweep approached. She felt his presence at her mind and responded, reaching out telepathically.</p><p>"There's something out there," he said quietly, "Do you feel it?"</p><p>Sweep stretched her mind and touched her mental shield, the gossamer glass casing that kept her safe. She let it drop and stretched her telepathic sense into the woods around her. She felt Temperance, scared but determined, she felt Father Vytal, wary but curious, and she felt Father Shane, ready and excited. She pushed her sense further, further than she and Father Vytal had ever attempted in practice, and it was like stretching a muscle long out of use, it hurt a bit, but it also felt good, it felt right.</p><p>"Careful," Father Vytal cautioned, "It has a strong will. It might be telepathic."</p><p>And then she felt it. It wasn't an animal; she was able to identify animal minds—and, now she thought on it, those animal minds were still and frightened—but neither was it human. There was something base and ruthless about it that made it different. It was strong-willed, but not a telepath, at least, it didn't have the same sense to it Father Vytal's mind did. It was also keenly focused. Sweep concentrated on its focus, trying to determine what it wanted and suddenly she gave a sort of mental blink, and could sense what it could, knew its thoughts as though they were her own.</p><p>Her vision edged with red and she could change between seeing light, and seeing heat, like focusing and refocusing her eyes. She could smell the fear of the animals around her and could hear their heartbeats. She could hear the whispered conversation of her quarry. They searched for her. Hunger gnawed at her from within and sparked her hatred of the living. Some might become like her by the end. She hated that, hated creating competing predators. Of the four humans huddled next to the fire, the big one with the sword was the most dangerous. He'd have to die first, a quick lunge at the throat where that large vein pulsed...</p><p>Sweep gasped as she pulled herself out of the creature's mind. "It's hungry," she said. "It's hunting us. It's going to kill Father Shane first."</p><p>With a frustrated snarl, the creature burst from the trees around their small clearing, and hit Father Shane in the chest. Father Shane brought his sword to bear, but not fast enough. The large cleric staggered under the blow and landed on his back in a crash of armor and shouted oaths. The creature was human shaped, but impossibly thin. Its ribs showed clearly on its torso, its skin stretched taut across the bones. Father Shane wrestled with it, but it was fast and much stronger than its thin frame implied. Father Shane bled from wounds along his arms, face, and neck and the creature used its unnaturally long tongue to lap the blood.</p><p>Next to her, Sweep felt Father Vytal tense, both physically and mentally. In the next moment, he flexed and directed his mental energy at the creature as though it were a sword. The creature screamed and tumbled off Father Shane who lay still. The creature writhed, beating its fists against the grass. But its incapacitation didn't last. It leapt to its feet with flexible grace and sprinted at Father Vytal.</p><p>Temperance screamed.</p><p>Father Vytal tensed again, but the creature was fast and Sweep wasn't sure her mentor would be in time. Rapid as thought, she pictured her mindspace, seized her power, and lashed out with her telepathic energy just as Father Vytal did so as well. The creature jerked sideways, and tumbled to the ground where it fell and rolled about, keening high and loud. The stench of rotten flesh filled the air. Its body curled in on itself, its arms covering its face, its knees pulled up to its elbows as it lay on its side. It twitched once more, than the high-pitched keening faded and the night was still.</p><p>Father Shane shattered the silence with a heavy yell, as he plunged his two-handed great sword into the creature's side, pinning it to the earth.</p><p>Sweep gasped and jumped away. She hadn't realized Father Shane had gotten up.</p><p>"Just in case," Father Shane said breathily.</p><p>The large cleric's face was a bloody mess. One eye had been ripped out. Blood oozed from a large wound in his neck. The wounds were awful tears through skin and flesh. What had been the hard muscles of a well-trained warrior now looked like butchered meat. Blood from his various wounds dripped to spatter the grass. Sweep's stomach clenched and she swallowed hard.</p><p>Father Shane breathed hard, but he was still breathing, and he needed help. Sweep opened herself to him, examining him with her healing power. His aura, a deep scarlet spiked with gold, pulsed faintly. He staggered a few steps and sat hard on the ground.</p><p>Father Vytal hurried to him and Sweep was at his side. She felt the senior cleric begin healing the wounds, and she reached to him mentally. "Wait. I was in the creature's mind. I saw what it is. Its bite is venomous and if it doesn't kill its victim, it transforms them into one of them."</p><p>Father Vytal hesitated a blink, but then she felt his trust in her. "We'll have to draw out the poison. We haven't talked much about poisons yet, so follow my lead."</p><p>Sweep nodded and smiled. Of course Father Vytal would turn even this dire situation into a lesson. Sweep watched as Father Vytal searched Father Shane's body for the poison. It was easy to see the shadows over the warrior cleric's aura. Then, carefully so as not to disrupt the blood flow, he drew the poison back to the wounds where it oozed from his body in thick, pitch-like rivulets. Nearly half an hour later, after careful work, Father Shane lay in his tent, sleeping soundly, his body free of poison, his wounds closed to angry red scars, and his belly full of a sleep-aiding tea Temperance had brewed.</p><p>Working together, Father Vytal and Sweep had managed to heal the worst of Father Shane's wounds, but attacking the creature had taken much of Sweep's strength, and drawing out the poison had been painstaking work that had drawn on most of Father Vytal's strength, and they hadn't healed Father Shane's eye yet.</p><p>"It takes great precision and a lot of energy to regrow a lost organ or limb," Father Vytal explained, as they rested next to the campfire. "And it has to be almost right away, or there's no chance at all."</p><p>"What happens if we try anyway?" Sweep persisted. "Losing an eye is pretty bad for a warrior, isn't it? Couldn't we at least try?"</p><p>Father Vytal sighed. "I understand you want to help him. But do you remember how you felt after you expended yourself on Catherine's behalf?"</p><p>Sweep nodded. "I was fine after I rested for a few days."</p><p>"You instinctively stopped before you might have seriously hurt yourself. When people with powers overexert themselves, the result can be painful, debilitating, even deadly."</p><p>Temperance reached over and took hold of Sweep's hand. Startled, Sweep looked at her friend. She hadn't realized Temperance sat beside her. It was peculiar, Sweep thought, that no matter how much had changed over the past months, some things remained constant. Temperance had grown taller and more confident, had dedicated her time to studying the properties of medicine, but still sought to protect Sweep.</p><p>"What do you think, Temperance?"</p><p>"If you can help him, help him. But if you permanently damage yourself, how much is gained?"</p><p>"We've been practicing for months now," Father Vytal added. "You should have a good idea of how much you're capable of. Do you think you can regrow Jack's eye without hurting yourself?"</p><p>Among the Sisters of Sacred Heart, such a question would have been designed to force a girl to admit ignorance, to admit she was wrong, but Father Vytal was truly asking for an answer and Sweep did not want to give one blithely. She slipped into her mindspace, the better to sense her power, and reached out with her healing sense to Father Shane.</p><p>"Show me how it would work," she said to Father Vytal, "and I'll see if I can do it." Holding Temperance's hand as she was, she made sure Temperance could hear the mental voice as well.</p><p>Sweep could feel Father Vytal's resignation, understanding the only way he could stop her from trying would be to do so forcefully and Sweep knew he would not. So he guided her healing sense, as though taking her hand, and showed her how some specialized parts of a person's body, things so small they couldn't be seen, could be encouraged to take on the shape and function of any part of that person's body. All they needed were guidance and energy.</p><p>"I think I can do it," Sweep said. She stretched her power, a sort of mental muscle, and though it felt achey, like after a long day of extra chores, she had more yet to give. "Please, Father Vytal, let me try."</p><p>Father Vytal sighed audibly, but mentally he said, "Take it slowly, be careful. If you feel yourself being stretched too far, stop. Using up all your strength will kill you. Do you understand?" He sounded exhausted.</p><p>"Yes, sir."</p><p>"Piety, I'll not be able to assist. I'm tapped out."</p><p>"I understand, sir."</p><p>Sweep immersed herself in Father Shane's scarlet and gold aura, targeting an area deep within, searching for the substance that could regrow his eye. It responded to her touch, eager to be guided and she swam along the cleric's aura to his eye. All around her, his other wounds, great crimson scars only half healed, called out like a bonfire at midnight, but she ignored them and instead focused on the now empty socket where his left eye had been.</p><p>"Grow," she commanded. And though the substance of Father Shane's body could not understand the word, her healing power echoed her will and encouraged the regrowth of the eye. It started slowly, a pale liquid flooding the orbit a drop at a time before a thin skin encompassed the liquid and began to fold and ripple in peculiar ways Sweep did not understand. But Sweep did not need to understand, she had instructed Father Shane's body and now all she needed to do was provide it with healing energy to finish the job. And so she did. The folded sack of liquid filled skin took shape quickly after that, forming light receptors and a flexible lens and tiny muscles.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Sweep took a deep breath and blinked. The faint achiness had grown to an encompassing pain. She groaned and realized she lay upon her back, in a tent.</p><p>"Piety?" It was Temperance, but she spoke far too loudly. "Piety, are you all right?"</p><p>Sweep took deep, even breaths, but the pain did not abate. She tried to tell Temperance to be quieter, but she could not speak. She tried to put a hand on Temperance's arm to tell her friend she was all right, but she could not move.</p><p>"Piety?"</p><p>Temperance's voice stabbed pain though her head, starting at her left eye and streaking across to the right side of her jaw. Instinctively, she shied away, and stepped into her mindspace.</p><p>Here, the pain was muted, she could think clearly and the first thing she wanted to do was reassure Temperance. Carefully, she sat at the desk in her mindspace and summoned the bowl of water, but when she placed a fingertip upon the water's surface, the stabbing pain shot through her head and she jerked her hand back. Her power was what ached. It was the pain of overuse, just as Father Vytal had warned. There was little she could do from the mindspace, she decided.</p><p>Before leaving, however, she examined the chessboard and moved a knight. The current game was the best she'd ever played and, though she wasn't winning, it was close.</p><p>When she was back in her body, she opened her eyes to see that dawn had come. Temperance knelt over her and Father Vytal sat nearby. It was awfully cramped in such a small space.</p><p>"Piety?" Temperance whispered.</p><p>Sweep blinked, then nodded a little. Moving seemed to help, so she struggled to sit up with Temperance's help.</p><p>"How do you feel?" asked Father Vytal.</p><p>Sweep swallowed and spoke. She'd expected her voice to come out scratchy as though she'd had a bad cough, but her throat felt fine. "I feel drained, and I don't want to use any powers for a while, but I'm all right."</p><p>Father Vytal smiled. "You did well, Piety."</p><p>"It worked then?"</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. "It did."</p><p>Their conversation was interrupted by a shout from outside. "Tristam! Come look at this. The demon is still twitching."</p><p> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 09</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Father Shane stood shirtless in the early morning, breathing hard, a short sword in each hand. He was covered with a fine sheen of sweat that steamed against the cool of the dawn air. The ragged, red scars of the night before had been healed to thin white lines like a haphazard spider web across his face and arms. It was a testament to Father Vytal’s skill and power as a healer that the scars had been so reduced. One of those thin scars started just above Father Shane’s left eye, ran across his lips, and ended at his right jaw. His left eye, once a normal dark brown, was now a pale, unearthly blue.</p><p>Father Vytal hurried to Father Shane’s side to look down at the creature still pinned to the ground on Father Shane’s great sword. Sweep followed slowly, Temperance at her side. When they arrived, they found the creature twitching and groaning painfully around the broad blade that pierced its side. It was still curled in on itself, its face hidden by its hands. Its clothing was in tatters about its body, its hair was lank upon its head. In the coming morning light, it looked more like a starved, pitiable person than an abnormally strong, fast, and ravenous monster.</p><p>“God’s Beard,” said Father Shane, “It is a demon.” He looked at Father Vytal. “An actual demon.”</p><p>Father Vytal knelt beside the creature and reached out carefully, prodding its back with his fingers. Sweep could feel him contacting it mentally. After a few moments, Father Vytal took a deep breath, flexed his shoulders, stood, and stepped back. The others stepped back with him.</p><p>“Well,” he said, “It’s not a creature from some hellish Realm. But neither is it entirely human.”</p><p>“So not a demon? Then what is it?” asked Father Shane.</p><p>“Undead. But not one I’m familiar with,” Father Vytal replied. “A few days ago, he was Samuel Baker. Now he barely even remembers that much. He is consumed with hunger for human blood.”</p><p>“Undead, like in the Scriptures” said Sweep. The horrible images of her nightmare at Noble Putnam’s returned forcefully. The papery-skinned, relentless, starving monstrosities rose from their graves and reached for her.</p><p>Temperance held her hand tightly and Sweep was pulled from the dream. She bit her tongue on a scream and leaned into her friend.  </p><p>Father Vytal nodded. “I believe so, one that specifically requires blood.”</p><p>“How was he so fast and so strong?” Father Shane asked. “I’ve fought a lot of undead and none of them are fast. Zombies are strong and a lich is brilliant, but this thing moved twice as fast as a mountain cat.”</p><p>Creatures whose hearts did not beat, lungs did not breathe, but who shambled on in a horrific mockery of life, were a tale from the Scriptures like demons and dragons. Her nightmares notwithstanding, Sweep had thought they were creatures of the distant past if not total fabrications. Father Shane talked about fighting the undead as a common occurrence. Perhaps, for him, it was, which made him like a hero from the Scriptures. Sweep looked at Father Shane with new awe.</p><p>“Maybe his transformation brought on new powers.” Father Vytal suggested, “I don’t know.”</p><p>Father Shane shook himself. “The Council will want to know about this.” He hefted his swords and twirled the one in his right hand. “Do you think if I behead it, it will die?”</p><p>Father Vytal closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. “I have no idea. Its constitution is clearly impressive as it has survived hours with your sword through its body. I know of no living thing that can survive long without a head. But then again, it’s undead. It doesn’t live the way we understand it.”</p><p>Father Shane grunted and twirled his sword again.</p><p>Temperance squeezed Sweep’s hand, gaining her attention, and whispered, “Is something burning?”</p><p>Sweep instinctively looked back at the campfire, looking for evidence of burning breakfast, trying to remember if she’d touched anything involved in preparation. But the campfire was bare of meal preparation.</p><p>“It’s smoking,” Father Shane exclaimed, taking a quick step back from the creature, the others following his example.</p><p>In the next moment, the creature burst into flame, screaming and writhing, tearing itself from the blade of the great sword. Sweep backed up quickly, staring with fascinated horror, while Temperance hid her face against Sweep’s shoulder. The fire burned hot and fast. At the back of her mind, like a high wind that dried the eyes, she felt a sound, a piteous whine trying to be a scream. Sweep made sure her mental shield was in place and could feel it vibrating against the squeal.</p><p>The creature squirmed and rolled, it beat at itself with burning arms, it croaked in desperate agony until its throat was powdery ash and it could scream no more. The whine at the back of her mind lingered a moment longer.</p><p>Soon after it had ignited, the fire died away, leaving only greasy ash and a foul smell on the air. Father Shane’s sword was impaled in the ground, blackened but whole.</p><p> “Sorry about your sword, Jack.” Father Vytal said with a laugh.</p><p>Sweep shifted her wide-eyed gaze to her mentor. Father Vytal was pale and shocked despite his light tone, and his laugh had a hard edge to it.</p><p>Father Shane swallowed hard but responded glibly. “It’ll take more than a bit of spontaneous combustion to hurt a sunblade, Tristam.”</p><p>“You have a sunblade? Since when?”</p><p>Their conversation had a forced tone to it. They were trying to affect nonchalance, though whether for the benefit of the young apprentices or for themselves, Sweep was uncertain.</p><p>“Several months ago. You weren’t there to vote, but I assured the council you’d vote yes.”</p><p>“Ah. Congratulations.”</p><p>The clerics didn’t look at each other, keeping their gazes on the smoldering remains of the creature. Temperance kept her face hidden against Sweep, shaking. The sounds of wildlife, having gone silent during the piercing shrieks of the burning undead, returned before any of them spoke again.</p><p>“Have you ever seen anything like this?” Father Shane asked.</p><p>“No, this is a first,” said Father Vytal.</p><p>“Why did it do that?”</p><p>“It was the sun,” Sweep said.</p><p>She was certain. When they first approached it, before the sun had fully risen, the undead creature had been in the shade of the trees of their little grove. Now the ashes lay dappled in sunlight.</p><p>“A sword in its side didn’t kill it, but a few spots of light burned it like it was doused in oil.” Father Shane mused. “Interesting.” He strode forward and pulled his sword from the ground with a grunt. “But it’s dead now, truly dead. Though we should scatter its ashes, just to be sure.”</p><p>“There are more of them out there,” Sweep said, remembering the creature’s thoughts when she had shared its mind. “This one was created by another.”</p><p>“How many?” asked Father Shane.</p><p>Sweep shook her head. “I don’t know.”</p><p>Father Shane retrieved a rag from his equipment and began cleaning his sword of greasy ash. “Well, Tristam, seems there really are demons.”</p><p>“Undead are not demons,” Father Vytal replied. Then he laughed, a short, harsh sound. “You’ll say anything to be contrary, won’t you?”</p><p>Father Shane grinned. “No, I won’t.”</p><p>Father Vytal shook his head. “Would you like to put your hunt for traitors on hold and hunt undead instead?”</p><p>“Indeed.”</p><p>To be certain the undead creature wouldn’t reform its body out of the ashes, as Father Shane assured them could happen with a particularly tenacious undead, they gathered what they could into an earthenware pot. What was left on the ground, they scattered using a spade from Steady’s packsaddles.</p><p>As they resumed their travel, they scattered the ashes to the wind every few miles and crushed the pot into powder when it was empty.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Sunslance was a city the size of Riverton, but it had no inner and outer city. The entire city was contained in its high, stone walls. Its large, iron-bound gates stood closed. A guardsman in the black and blue of House Kempenny met them at the gate. Unlike Riverton, which had been overseen by a county magistrate, Sunslance was home to provincial guards. The guard wore three gold knots on his left shoulder indicating an officer rank. Fifteen more guardsmen were arranged behind him in neat ranks. The late afternoon light glinted off of their well-maintained armor and weapons.</p><p>“Fathers,” the guardsman greeted them warily. “What business do you have in Sunslance?”</p><p>Father Shane dismounted, handing his reins to Sweep. Sweep took the reins without thinking then held them uncomfortably, unsure what to do with them. Their ride south had made her proficient at not falling off a saddle, not so much at actually riding a horse.</p><p>Father Shane took several steps toward the officer. “We are here at the behest of the Council. Your Mayor sent for us.”</p><p>The man cleared his throat uncomfortably. “His Honor, Mayor Theobald, is dead, sir. The city is under quarantine and we have orders to let no one in or out.”</p><p>“Orders from whom?” demanded Father Shane.</p><p>“Governor Kempenny, sir.” The guardsman looked increasingly uncomfortable, but seemed confident in the veracity and potency of his orders.</p><p>“She gave you these orders personally?”</p><p>“Her niece acts as her proxy, sir.”</p><p>Father Vytal asked, “What’s your name, Lieutenant?” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his saddle and smiling in that grandfatherly way he had.</p><p>“Loman, sir.”</p><p>“Lieutenant, my name is Tristam Vytal, I’m a healer, and my apprentices,” he gestured behind him, “are training in the same craft. If there is a sickness in your city, we are well equipped to handle it.”</p><p>Lieutenant Loman swallowed hard. “My orders didn’t say anything about healers.”</p><p>“Did your orders say anything about a Sword of the Church?” Father Shane asked.</p><p>Lieutenant Loman glanced at Father Shane but didn’t answer. He shifted uncomfortably. “I’ve heard your name before, Father Vytal. They say you can bring people back from the dead.”</p><p>Father Vytal shook his head. “No one but God can do that, and He wouldn’t. But I can heal sicknesses with magic and with herbs.”</p><p>Lieutenant Loman closed his eyes and shook his head. “Sir, my orders were explicit. No one in or out.”</p><p>“Lieutenant, I know Erin Kempenny, the Governor. I know how formidable and tenacious she is. I know she is loyal to her people and would do anything she could to protect them. You are an officer of the guard of Kempenny. How far will you go to help the people you’ve sworn to protect?”</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>“I expected a city with a name like Sunslance to be a little more… cheerful. This place is downright gloomy.” Father Shane groused over a bowl of thin stew.</p><p>Sunslance had been quarantined for two weeks, which had stopped the flow of goods from the farmers and tradesmen who lived outside the city. Food stores were running short and the Crown of Rays, the inn Lieutenant Loman had conducted them to, had nothing better to offer than thin turnip soup and watered beer. Lieutenant Loman had left them to wait while he reported to the mayor, the governor’s niece, on their arrival.</p><p>“Do you really know Governor Kempenny?” Sweep asked in a low voice. The common room was half full of unhappy travelers who’d gotten stuck in the city, and she wasn’t certain she wanted them overhearing her question. Governor Kempenny’s popularity was dismal amongst trapped travelers.</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. “I do. The odd thing is, I also know her only sibling, Margaret.”</p><p>“The Consort?” Temperance asked.</p><p>“Exactly. Royal Sean Loreamer’s wife, Margaret Kempenny Loreamer.”</p><p>“Wait a moment,” Father Shane leaned forward. “That Officer Lyman fellow said that the governor’s niece was acting as the governor’s proxy. But if the governor only has one sister, and that sister is Margaret Loreamer, then the governor’s niece is Heir Isabel.”</p><p>“Indeed,” agreed Father Vytal. “And I find it hard to believe that Heir Isabel Loreamer is away from the palace and ordering cities in Kempenny Province under quarantine.”</p><p>Father Shane smiled. “A mystery. I’d forgotten how much fun it is to be around you, Tristam.”</p><p>Sweep looked at Father Shane, incredulous. “Yesterday you nearly died. You call that fun?”</p><p>“I abhor boredom, child. Any day I don’t feel some excitement is a failure.”</p><p>“I’d be happy with a little more boredom,” Temperance said. “I like Father Vytal’s approach, traveling around and quietly helping those in need.”</p><p>“Hey now, I offered to send you two off to Kinswell, but you insisted on coming. No take backs now, brats.” Father Shane grinned before turning his attention back to Father Vytal. “Anyway, Tristam, do you think that Officer Leehman was lying to us?”</p><p>“Loman,” Father Vytal corrected. “And no, I don’t. But I don’t think he’s aware of the whole truth either.”</p><p>“And what is that?”</p><p>“I hope to find out.”</p><p>Only twenty minutes later, as Sweep drank the last of her soup, the door to the street opened and everyone in the common room got quiet.</p><p>Sweep set down her bowl and looked up to see Lieutenant Loman trailing a girl into the common room. The girl was clad in an elegant black dress with dark blue trim and a matching blue waistcoat. At her hip was a thin sword and Sweep wondered if the girl knew how to use it. She had the brown skin and brown eyes common to the Nation of Khulanty, but her hair was pure black and shined in the dim light of the common room. She had a confident cast to her expression. The girl stopped at their table, Lieutenant Loman stopped a pace behind her.</p><p>“Good afternoon, Fathers. Lieutenant Loman tells me he allowed you to break my quarantine.”</p><p>Father Shane leered. “You’re awfully young to be Mayor Theobald.”</p><p>Lieutenant Loman stepped forward. “I already told you, sir, the mayor is—“</p><p>The girl cut him off. “That’s enough, Lieutenant. You are dismissed.”</p><p>The officer’s eyes widened and he took several steps back, like she had struck him. He looked about to protest, but swallowed hard, turned on the spot, and marched from the common room.</p><p>“Miss Kempenny, my name is Father Vytal. I’m a healer. If you’re having an outbreak, I can help.”</p><p>The girl nodded once. “Quite right. Come with me please.” She turned then, and left, not waiting to see if they followed.</p><p>Father Shane looked at Father Vytal, a small smile betraying his amusement. “Shall we follow the girl?”</p><p>Father Vytal nodded and stood. “I think so. She’s clearly in charge, and she certainly reminds me of her aunt.”</p><p>“So you believe this girl is Governor Kempenny’s niece?”</p><p>Father Vytal shrugged. “If not by blood, certainly by temperament.”</p><p>As they left the common room, Temperance said in a quiet voice, “Piety, this is… peculiar.”</p><p>“It was peculiar yesterday when that monster attacked us. And then again this morning when it wasn’t dead.”</p><p>Temperance shook her head. “That’s not what I’m talking about. The Governor’s niece, if she were a little shorter, and had white hair, she’d look just like you.”</p><p>“She looks like me?”</p><p>Temperance nodded. “Like you were sisters. And since you’re an orphan and Father Vytal doubts this girl is the blood relative of the governor, perhaps she really is your sister.”</p><p>Sweep stopped walking. For a moment, she couldn’t feel her body, her vision blurred, and a buzzing filled her ears. A sister. It felt impossible, but in that moment, Sweep entertained the idea that perhaps her family was out there, somewhere, existing in the world. She couldn’t have sprung from nothing, after all.</p><p>But looking vaguely like a girl who probably wasn’t really related to the Governor of Kempenny proved nothing. And assuming a familial bond was too farfetched to entertain for long.</p><p>“Piety?”</p><p>Sweep took a breath. Temperance looked at her, concerned.</p><p>“I didn’t mean to frighten you,” Temperance said.  </p><p>Sweep shook her head. “It’s fine.”</p><p>“It’s just that—“</p><p>But Sweep cut her off. “It’s an interesting thought, Temperance, but not likely. And even if it is true, you’re my sister.”</p><p>Temperance smiled and together they joined Fathers Shane and Vytal outside the inn.</p><p>On the cobbled-stone street, a carriage already hurried away and a second stood waiting. A tall, thin man stood at the carriage door and opened it for them. Father Vytal entered and Father Shane motioned for Temperance to precede him. Sweep followed Temperance but Father Shane laid a gentle hand on her shoulder.</p><p>“Piety.”</p><p>Sweep paused and looked at Father Shane.</p><p>“Tristam told me I have you to thank for my eye. Said that he didn’t have the strength to fix it but that you insisted on trying.” He rubbed at his cheek, just under the now pale blue eye.</p><p>Sweep nodded. “Yes, sir.”</p><p>“Thank you, Piety. I owe you one.”</p><p>Sweep shook her head and patted his hand. “No sir. That’s not how it works.”</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>The mayor’s mansion was richly appointed. The room they were in contained three couches and several large, upholstered chairs. Thick rugs covered the stone-tiled floor, which had been polished to a shine. All of the upholstery and rugs were patterned in blue and gold. Oil on canvas paintings of pleasant and pastoral landscapes adorned the walls while decorative vases held bouquets of flowers, freshly picked. Three large windows dominated one side of the room, stretching nearly from floor to ceiling, the small panes of glass held together with lead. The room was overly warm thanks to the fire in a fireplace large enough to roast a whole cow.</p><p>Night fell while they waited for the girl, Mayor Kempenny as the servants referred to her, to attend to some other business. When she finally arrived, servants trailed her, bringing trays of tea, cookies, cheese, wine, and other refreshments.</p><p>Father Shane unabashedly availed himself of the food, loading a small plate with the bite sized portions and pouring himself a small glass of wine before settling in a chair with a pair of extra pillows. His sunblade rested in its scabbard, point down, against the side of the chair. He balanced the plate upon a knee and sampled the cheeses.</p><p>Following his example, Sweep and Temperance each took a plate but only took a few snacks apiece. Sweep chose two fruit pastries and a cookie.</p><p>The girl in black, poured herself a cup of tea and added two spoons of sugar with ritualistic care. She picked up the cup, blew on the steaming liquid, and took a small sip before smiling faintly.</p><p>She looked at Father Vytal and raised one elegant, black eyebrow at him. Sweep held in a small chuckle as the cleric’s most common non-verbal question was returned on him.</p><p>“Won’t you take refreshment, Father?”</p><p>“I must admit, Miss Kempenny, I’m a bit confused and not a little concerned.”</p><p>She nodded and took another sip of her tea, looking at Father Vytal over the rim of her cup. For some time, neither said anything. The fire crackled gently.</p><p>“Did the councils send you?” she asked suddenly.</p><p>“The Church Council sent me,” said Father Shane, brushing at his beard to dislodge a few crumbs. “A Sword of the Church to deal with the demon.”</p><p>The girl nodded. “Of course. And you, Father?” she looked at Father Vytal.</p><p>“No.” Father Vytal shook his head. “Father Shane just happened upon me as he was heading this way and invited me to join him.”</p><p>She turned her attention to Father Shane. “And have you found what you came for, Father Shane?”</p><p>Father Shane was finishing his small glass of wine and did not interrupt the draught to answer. When he was done, he gave a large sigh, and a small belch, and set the glass down. He stretched his massive arms wide and there was audible popping as his joints stretched. “Not yet, Miss Kempenny. But I haven’t even gotten started looking, and demons can be tricksom little devils. Ha! Get it?”</p><p>Unobtrusively, Sweep laid a hand on Temperance’s arm. Easily, she slipped into her mindspace and achieved the calm and concentration necessary to access her powers. In the moment of thought when she could see the room in her mind, she noted her subconscious had moved a black knight on the chessboard. She moved a white cleric in response, certain she was about to lose this game though not yet certain how.</p><p>Then she accessed her telepathy and whispered into Temperance’s mind.</p><p>“Is Father Shane acting a bit strange?”</p><p>Temperance nodded only slightly. “I think he and Father Vytal are playing a sort of game. Father Shane is pretending to be… buffoonish.”</p><p>“Shrewd.”</p><p>“So it’s demons that concern you?” The Kempenny girl set her cup on the table.</p><p>Father Vytal took several moments before he closed his eyes and nodded slowly, once. “Always.”</p><p>“And you think they’re here in Sunslance?”</p><p>Father Shane leaned to the table and poured himself another glass of wine. “Mayor Theobald did.”</p><p>“Mister Theobald is gone, abandoned his post. I’m the mayor now.”</p><p>“On whose authority?” Father Shane demanded.</p><p>“My aunt, the Governor of Kempenny Province.”</p><p>“Kinda’ a titchy brat for bein’ a mayor, aren’cha?” Father Shane drank the small glass of wine in a swallow.</p><p>The girl’s eyes narrowed angrily.</p><p>Sweep held in her smile; Father Shane’s game was succeeding.</p><p>“Mayor Kempenny, please excuse my fellow Son of God. He’s a fighting man, and not accustomed to the niceties of a mayor’s presence.”</p><p>Her jaw tensed as she continued to glare at Father Shane. “Then it’s good he brought you along, Father Vytal.” She turned to face the elder cleric.</p><p>“I’m curious, your Honor, how you can be the daughter of Erin Kempenny’s sister. Erin’s only sister is named Margaret and Margaret Kempenny is married to the Royal Sean Loreamer. They have one daughter, Isabel. I have been a personal tutor to the Heir, Isabel Loreamer, and you, your Honor, are not her.”</p><p>The girl’s nostrils flared and her lips went thin and white. She did not respond.</p><p>“Why do you have the city under quarantine?” Father Vytal pressed. “Is there plague? My apprentices and I are healers. We could help.”</p><p>She shook her head. “It’s not that kind of quarantine.” She sighed and all the fury fell from her face so that she was a mask of calm. She stood, putting her hands behind her back and walked to one of the tall windows curtained in pale blue velvet. She stared out the window into the dark yard beyond.</p><p>Father Vytal stood and followed her. “What’s happening? We can help.”</p><p>She bowed her head. “It is said Tristam Vytal is a great scholar of powers. Is this true?”</p><p>“It is.” Father Vytal nodded once.</p><p>“Then you will understand when I say I am a necromancer, and I have created something terrible.”</p><p>Sweep’s mouth went dry. The nightmare of rotting demons forced its low moans and thick stink upon her. Necromancers, like undead, Sweep had throught to be creatures of long ago, confined to the pages of the Scriptures.</p><p>Father Vytal went rigid. Father Shane was on his feet, his sunblade gripped in both hands, naked of its sheath, up and at the ready. Temperance grabbed Sweep’s arm, afraid.</p><p>Kempenny straightened and turned to face them, her composure reclaimed. She seemed not to notice Father Shane. “It is stronger and faster than any warrior I’ve ever seen. Its skin is hard enough to turn a sword, only a direct thrust will penetrate. It thirsts for blood The conventional methods of mayhem will not kill it, but a sword through its heart will stop it. It will only die if it’s burned.”</p><p>“God’s Fire, child,” said Father Shane, all trace of the slur gone. “Couldn’t you have stuck to zombies? They’re less dangerous.”</p><p>“General Vahramp was dangerous before I killed him.”</p><p>“You mean Frederick Vahramp?”</p><p>She nodded.</p><p>Father Shane sneered. “I knew Freddy when he was with the Swords of the Church. He had a taste for blood even then.”</p><p>“Every night there are more victims lying in the streets, or in their beds, or at their tables, drained of blood. And every night more people go missing. The populace thinks there is a sickness claiming the lives of their neighbors.”</p><p>“So Frederick is in the city?” Father Vytal asked.</p><p>“He’s come here now. I tried to warn you… but… but he’s in my head. I… I’ve been hunting him but…”</p><p>“Well then, tonight’s your lucky night, little bitch. And look who you’ve brought me: old friends.” The five of them whirled at the new voice.</p><p>General Fredrick Vahramp had gained entry without anyone hearing so much as the squeak of a hinge, a whisper of cloth. He was tall, with a square jaw and a barrel chest, built similarly to Father Shane. His dark hair was pulled away from his face into a short tail. His chest was bare, revealing smooth muscles that would have looked impossibly large on a normal human. He wore loose silk pants dyed brilliant crimson, but his feet were bare. His fingers and toes ended in black claws and his eyes were scarlet. Arrayed behind him were emaciated wretches with sallow skin and lank hair, and though they did not share General Vahramp’s beauty, they did share his hungry, burning eyes.</p><p>Father Vytal took a step toward them. “Frederick Vahramp. My name is Tristam Vytal. I can help you.”</p><p>General Vahramp shook his head. “No you can’t, Father. The only thing you can do is kill me. But I enjoy my new life; I’m faster, stronger, more aware. No, I came here only to destroy the bitch. And now I get to kill a couple clerics as well.”</p><p>Father Shane raised his sword. “Not going to happen, Freddy.”</p><p>General Vahramp looked at Father Shane and smiled. “Jack Shane. It’s good to see you again.” He smiled to reveal fangs like a cat’s. “Kill them,” he whispered, “Kill them all.”</p><p>General Vahramp stood like a boulder in a stream while his emaciated minions surged into the room. At the same moment, before anyone else could react, Father Shane moved to meet them, anticipating Vahramp’s orders and counter attacking. The large cleric’s anticipatory attack bisected two of the undead, spilling rotten viscera onto the polished wood and thick rugs.</p><p>The sudden destruction of two of their fellows was enough to make the rest of the creatures hesitate for several moments.</p><p>Temperance grabbed Sweep’s arm and dragged her back toward the fireplace. Father Vytal thrust his mind at Vahramp, and Sweep felt the attack shatter upon Vahramp’s mental shield.</p><p>Father Shane raised his sword two-handed above his head. Sweep felt a twinge of magic from the sword before blinding white light filled the room and seared her eyes. A chorus of screams resulted, a disconcordant cacophony ghosted through her shield and filled her mind. The pressure built quickly, and the glass-like mental shield shattered from within. The telepathic screams pierced her mind, and Sweep’s world was reduced to a point of pain at the base of her skull.</p><p>The world swam back in fuzzy lights and muted sounds. A vile, acidic taste coated her tongue. Sweep fought through the nausea, tried to stand, and a hand helped her to her feet. People were shouting; confusing, conflicting sounds leapt through the air.</p><p>“What happened?” Sweep asked, but the words choked and she coughed instead.</p><p>“This way,” Temperance said desperately. “Next to the fire.”</p><p>The fire. Of course. Perhaps the creatures would sense the danger of the fire and not want to come close. Sweep managed to keep her feet under her while being dragged to the fire. A few more moments and her vision began to clear.</p><p>Mayor Kempenny stood in front of the fire, her thin sword drawn, her black hair loose and wild. Neither Father Shane nor Father Vytal were in evidence. Desperately, Sweep looked around for her mentor, pulling away from Temperance’s embrace.</p><p>“What happened?” she demanded again, and this time it came out whole. The nausea faded.</p><p>Father Shane stood in the middle of the room, a small grin tugging at his beard. Father Vytal was at the door, closing and locking it. Piled around the door was a tangle of burned bodies, their skin and muscles turned to ash, their bones barely recognizable. Father Vytal stepped carefully around the oily, stinking mess and walked toward the fireplace.</p><p>“I’m not sure all the servants made it out of the house,” Mayor Kempenny objected.</p><p>“He’s probably killed them already,” Father Shane said. “He likes killing.”</p><p>“Damnit,” she muttered, but her face betrayed no expression.</p><p>Father Vytal placed one hand on Sweep’s shoulder, and one on Temperance’s. He looked at them, his expression serious, and offered no false reassurance just a familiar touch, and that gesture calmed Sweep. For the first twelve years of her life, Sweep had often wished the Mother Superior was more like an actual mother. But here, in this man, she had known a father, and she realized she loved him. The realization put her at peace.</p><p>Father Vytal released them and turned back to face the room. “Jack, join us?”</p><p>Father Shane nodded and backed toward the fire.</p><p>Sweep looked at Father Vytal. “What happened?” she asked for a third time.</p><p>From behind her, Mayor Kempenny answered. “You collapsed and vomited.”</p><p>Sweep turned to look at her. The other girl was glaring at her with unconcealed disgust. Father Vytal put his hands on Sweep’s shoulders and Sweep returned her attention to him. She tried not to let the older girl’s obvious contempt upset her. There was no reason she should desire Mayor Kempenny’s approval.</p><p>“Father Shane evoked the power for which a sun sword is named. Usually it is used to stun and subdue an enemy but apparently against Miss Kempenny’s necromantic creations,” here he glanced over Sweep’s shoulder at the young mayor, “it works as a deadly weapon. Unfortunately, the general escaped.”</p><p>He looked back at Sweep. “Are you all right?”</p><p>“They’re telepaths,” she explained. “Sort of. When they died, there was a telepathic scream. It shattered my shield.”</p><p>He nodded. “I felt it too. Can you rebuild your shield? We will need your talent for psychic combat. Remember the attack in the woods?”</p><p>Sweep nodded. “I remember. I can do it.”</p><p>She closed her eyes and slipped into the mindspace. A black knight had taken the cleric she’d moved. She moved a castle in response, fearing she’d never get to finish the game.</p><p>Her power came to her easily and she imagined a glass shell about herself, flexible to her movement but repelling any outside force that might try to gain access to her mind, even the subtle death screams of the creatures. Her power felt irritated, raw, as though it had been stretched too far. But she flexed it gently, urged it to her will, and the shield flowed into place. It made her feel better, secure.</p><p>When she opened her eyes, she let herself linger in the room in her mind, wishing she could stay here, safe. She wished she could select a book from the shelves, a novel perhaps, and curl upon the black and white and silver chair, and read until the messy ordeal was over.</p><p>“He’s coming back.”</p><p>Sweep pulled herself back to her body. It was the young mayor who’d spoken. Temperance took Sweep’s arm and held tight.</p><p>“Piety.”</p><p>Sweep looked at Temperance. Her friend was frightened, features tight, tears sliding down her cheeks, hands clenched.</p><p>“We’ll be fine, Temperance. Father Shane and Father Vytal will protect us.”</p><p>The three windows shattered; shards of glass flew into the room. Sweep flinched as a shard struck her cheek. Temperance screamed. Behind the flying glass, the sallow-skinned creatures boiled into the room, red eyes glowing with malicious hunger, clawed fingers offered with menace.</p><p>Without letting herself take the time to think, to understand the danger of the situation, to become afraid, Sweep focused on one of the creatures and let fly her telepathic energy, like a snaking lash. The creature’s eyes widened and dark blood oozed from its nose and eyes before it fell backward. Elsewhere in the room a blast of light, much less impressive than Father Shane’s initial salvo, fell across one of the creature’s torso, melting skin, muscle, and bone. Though its chest was gone the creature continued to scream and claw at the floor and furnishings. She could feel its mental scream against her newly rebuilt shield, and this time, ready for it, her shield held.</p><p>Sweep let the scream distract her for only a moment. She could feel Father Vytal’s telepathic energy striking into the minds of the creatures, one after another, felling them. She could feel him wielding his mind like a sword to protect them, and Sweep continued her assault, following her mentor’s lead, striking out with her mind, felling a creature with each thought. She let her gaze fall upon a single creature at a time, released her will upon it, then went to the next. The creatures were not faster than thought, but they were fast, and for each felled another took its place.</p><p>The creatures closed within sword range, scrambling over the bodies of their fallen comrades. Father Shane stepped forward and, with a long upward swing, bisected one of the creatures. Its halves dropped to the floor and continued to twitch. He took another step forward, bringing the sword back down and catching another upon the shoulder. But as he pulled the sword back around one of them darted in, and its speed outperformed his skill. It slashed at Father Shane’s side, ripping through red-lacquered metal, hardened leather, and flesh. Father Shane’s blood sprayed across the room—a glistening, crimson arc. Piety felt the thick, warm liquid soaking into her dress at her chest. Another of the creatures slapped at his sword, tearing it from his hands.</p><p>And then they were upon him. They leapt to his back, climbed to his shoulders to tear at his throat, slashed at his legs, and brought the large cleric to the floor, even as he bellowed and drew his short swords. Those unable to reach Father Shane turned their sights to the rest of them.</p><p>Sweep felt Father Vytal reach his healing powers out to Father Shane who still swung about with his swords as the creatures stabbed and slashed, bit and licked. But these swords were not made by magic and could not breach the skin of the creatures.</p><p>Desperately, Sweep let loose her psionic power in an attack that lashed across several minds at once. The divided attack divided its strength, and the mentally struck undead were stunned, but not killed.</p><p>Mayor Kempenny sprinted to meet the oncoming creatures and thrust her sword into the chest of one so violently she was splattered with blood. And Sweep felt another peculiar twist of power, power of a flavor different from both the sunblade and her own powers. It tasted like paper and ink. And that moment of power produced a pause among the massed undead.</p><p>“I’ve got it,” Kempenny whispered. With her other hand, she reached out to the creature impaled upon her blade and brushed her fingers across its face, the gentle caress of a friend. In the next moment, the creature crumbled to dust, like it had never been.</p><p>Another darted toward the girl with its enhanced speed, but when it touched her, instead of rending her body to bloody ruin, Sweep sensed that twist of power, and it too fell to dust.</p><p>The wretched creatures seemed to sense the danger of the black-haired girl’s touch and, in an effort at self-preservation, shied away from her. She continued to lash out with her sword and her touch, using her necromantic power to destroy the bloodthirsty creatures she had created.</p><p>Sweep took the moment of distraction to reach her power to Father Shane. The creatures on him had failed to be distracted by Mayor Kempenny’s necromantic touch and licked at the warrior cleric’s wounds, but she could feel he was still, tenuously, alive. With a deep breath, she pushed a surge of healing power into his body and willed him to get up, to join them by the fire.</p><p>But Father Shane had a different idea. For a moment, she was connected to Father Shane as she had been the creature last night. The power she sent him was twisted just a bit, tinkered with, and channeled into the sunblade. She felt her power turn from a warm healing hand to a blistering hot flame. Father Shane had taken her gift and used it to his own purposes.</p><p>“Thank you, Piety.”</p><p>The resultant blast of light elicited screams of pain and fury. Piety squeezed her eyes shut and concentrated on her mental shield. When it was over moments later, the creatures were burned to ash and flames licked at the room’s furniture and rugs. The vases held charred stems where they hadn’t shattered. And Sweep could no longer feel Father Shane.</p><p>In the next moment, Frederick Vahramp was in the room. He stood behind Mayor Kempenny one arm around her chest the other around her shoulders, his hand bending her head to the side, exposing her neck. Sweep blinked. There had been no time between Father Shane’s blast of holy light and General Vahramp’s endgame.</p><p>Sweep tried to summon the strength to attack the inhumanly beautiful man with her telepathy, but her power was running thin. It ached to reach for it. She was exhausted.</p><p>More of the creatures crawled warily through the shattered windows.</p><p>Sweep backed as close to the fire as she could. She watched Vahramp and Kempenny. Vahramp smiled, reveling in his victory. Slowly, he lowered his head to rip at Mayor Kempenny’s neck with his teeth, but he paused halfway.</p><p>His arms were crumbling to dust.</p><p>Quickly, he released the black-clad girl and took several steps back. He held up his hands to further study the phenomenon, and he screamed. He screamed vocally and mentally, and Piety felt her mental shield buckle. She fell to her knees, covered her ears with her hands, and squeezed her eyes shut. The shield held, but barely.</p><p>From behind her, Sweep felt the fire flare.</p><p>Temperance passed her, carrying the safe end of a burning piece of wood. With an inarticulate wail, she hurled it at Vahramp. Vahramp sidestepped easily, but the flame burdened wood struck the mass of undead creatures behind him. When the fire hit them, it flared and spread across them like dry grass. Those not caught in the conflagration recoiled, retreated.</p><p>Vahramp was gone.</p><p>The creatures shrieked, agonizing cries filled the room and battered Sweep’s mind. Those who could, fled, some of them still ablaze, leaping through the broken windows. The rest squirmed and rolled upon the floor. The room caught fire.</p><p>“Out,” Father Vytal commanded. “Everyone out.” He pushed Temperance and Sweep before him.</p><p>“Father Shane,” Temperance protested, “We can’t leave him.” She tried to go to him through the noxious smoky ruin of undead bodies and the still flaming furnishings. Sweep caught her arm.</p><p>“It’s too late Temperance, come on.”</p><p>“You can save him,” Temperance insisted.</p><p>“I can’t. He’s dead.”</p><p>Sweep regretted her blunt words the moment she let them loose, but there was no time to apologize. The fire spread up the walls, and the ceiling creaked threateningly. She pulled on her friend’s arm, and Temperance no longer struggled. Mayor Kempenny led them from the mansion, the hallways before them already acquiring a thin layer of smoke at the top.</p><p>On the street outside the mayor’s mansion, Sweep held Temperance while her friend sobbed into her shoulder.</p><p>“I killed him,” she said, “Why did I do that? I killed him, I killed him…”</p><p>“No,” Sweep assured her again, “No, he sacrificed himself for one last attack. Not all the healing power in the world could have made him whole again. Your action forced their retreat. You saved us.”</p><p>But Temperance was inconsolable.</p><p>All around them, the black-clad soldiers of Kempenny arranged a bucket brigade to haul water from the nearest well. They managed to contain the fire, but the mayor’s mansion was only so much charred remains.</p><p>Hours later, the night heavy about them, Mayor Kempenny spoke with Father Vytal.</p><p>“I understand my power over him now, and so does he. I will hunt him down.”</p><p>“I can send help,” said Father Vytal.</p><p>“No.”</p><p>“Frederick was dangerous before you gave him new powers and an unquenchable thirst for blood. I can tell you’re not without formidable powers yourself, but you’re going to need help. Don’t let pride feed him more victims.”</p><p>“Your councils are about to declare war on my province. I’ve been kicking Loreamer out of Kempenny. I can’t willingly let them back in.</p><p>Father Vytal sighed gustily and frowned. “I hate war. I was hoping it had only been rumor. Are you responsible for the attack on House Putnam?”</p><p>The mayor grit her teeth and shook her head. “I’ve done all I can to stop the war. I’ve failed in that as I’ve failed in everything else.”</p><p>Piety felt pity for the mayor. When she’d first seen the black-clad woman standing with such confidence, wearing a sword and speaking with command, Piety had thought she was someone who could handle any situation. Now she looked small and wan and defeated.</p><p>“It’s time to try something new,” Mayor Kempenny said. “Tell your friends to keep their soldiers north of the Grand, and Kempenny will keep hers south of it.”</p><p>“Can you guarantee that?” Father Vytal asked.</p><p>“You said you knew the governor, my aunt. She told me that I’m the twin of Heir Isabel. I’ve met the heir. I’m certainly not her twin, maybe her sister? Either way, my aunt told me I was abandoned because a twin would make succession messy. Do you believe that, Father?”</p><p>“I believe Erin told you that.”</p><p>“Precisely. I’ve been lied to all my life. I can’t guarantee anything.” She shook her head and looked away. Her shoulders slumped “You should go home. Your council will be needing you.”</p><p>Father Vytal gave a small bow. “As you say, Mayor Kempenny.” He turned to Piety and Temperance, put a hand on each of their shoulders, he led them from the smoking remains of the building.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Kinswell was larger than either Sweep or Temperance had anticipated. The main streets were wide enough for four or five wagons abreast, buildings soared into the sky like they might reach out and touch it, and people filled every available space. The people were all loud and all talking at once. Merchants shouted their wares; customers haggled prices; friends talked about the recent happenings of their lives. Father Vytal had to divert course to winding side streets due to a construction project that had torn up the main thoroughfare. It would have been impossible to get through the press of people with any sort of expediency had they not been atop horses.</p><p>The High Temple stood across an expansive public square from the Royal Palace. The public square was paved with multicolored stones creating a variety of scenes: ships at sea, glowing forge fires, fields of crops. In the center of the square was a well, the well at which First Royal Dalton Loreamer had convened his first council with the heads of family who would become the governors of the provinces of Khulanty, the same well by which Kinswell took its name.</p><p>A pair of stable boys, clad in red tunics edged in gold, collected their horses at the foot of the great steps that lead to the colonnaded portico of the High Temple. They took the horses and Steady to a gate in the wall of the complex. Father Vytal unloaded his packs from his horse, despite the protests of the stable boys. Sweep and Temperance followed his example.</p><p>The cleric led them up the steps and through the great entrance, doors three times as tall as Father Vytal, into the receiving hall, a vault-ceilinged room with stained glass windows and marble tiled floors polished to a shine. There were men and women dressed in civilian garb sitting on cushioned benches at the walls of the hall, talking in quiet voices. Red-robed clerics made their way between the groups to confer with them. They walked through this hallway, past a pair of guards who saluted Father Vytal, and up a set of stairs. After a long climb and several more hallways, they came to a small office that housed a large wooden door flanked by another pair of guards. A young woman sat at a neat desk, and she stood when the three of them entered. She bowed to Father Vytal.</p><p>“Father,” she said respectfully.</p><p>“Is he free?” asked Father Vytal.</p><p>“Just a moment, sir,” she replied. She knocked thrice on the door and opened it, putting her head through the opening. “Sir, Father Vytal is here to see you.”</p><p>There came a muffled response. The secretary opened the door wider and gestured for Father Vytal to enter. Sweep and Temperance followed him, Sweep meeting the woman’s curious gaze, but Temperance keeping her eyes down.</p><p>The private office was paneled in dark wood; beige and grey rugs carpeted the floor. A large, clear, circular window dominated the far wall. Before the window was a heavy desk covered in neat stacks of papers, ordered bottles of ink, and other items Sweep had no words for. A pair of couches and a few assorted chairs faced each other around a low table at the front of the room; a small common area in a place where serious business was done.</p><p>The man who sat on the edge of the desk smiled at them as they came in. He came forward, hand extended to Father Vytal, and they shook hands like old friends. He was taller than Father Vytal, his skin was dark and his head was completely bald. He wore simple clothes, cotton dyed in muted ivory and brown, cinched with a wide, brown leather belt. A golden sunburst rested upon his chest, held by a thin leather cord.</p><p>Father Vytal turned to them. “Girls, this is Marcus Radden, the High Cleric, and my good friend. Marcus, may I present to you Piety Churchstep, and Temperance Sunday.”</p><p>“Indeed,” said the High Cleric. He smiled at them brightly.</p><p>Sweep and Temperance automatically folded their hands at their waists and bowed their heads. This man, no matter how familiar with Father Vytal, was the High Cleric, the leader of the Church of Khulanty. He was the man in charge of all other fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers, and acolytes in service to the church. Father Vytal claimed the man as a friend, he was allowed to be friendly with him, but to two orphan girls raised at Sacred Heart Church, this was a man to be respected and deferred to.</p><p>Only God was higher.</p><p>“It is a pleasure to meet you at last,” said the High Cleric. “Tristam has written me several letters, keeping me abreast of your adventures across Khulanty and of the considerable talents you both possess.”</p><p>Sweep didn’t move and neither did Temperance. Sweep wondered what Father Vytal meant by bringing them to see the High Cleric, but she simply couldn’t think of anything such a man could want with them.</p><p>Father Vytal knelt before them so that, even with heads bowed, they could see his face. His forehead was furrowed, his eyes sad, his mouth uncertain, as though he didn’t want to say whatever came next.</p><p>“Girls, I had hoped our journey to Kinswell would be far more circuitous. But now, I have work to do, and I cannot take you with me.”</p><p>Sweep nodded while keeping her head bowed. She sought Temperance’s hand and they held tightly.</p><p>“Why don’t we all sit down?” suggested the High Cleric. He took one of the comfortably upholstered chairs. Father Vytal sat on one of the couches.</p><p>Sweep and Temperance didn’t move.</p><p>“Girls, really, it’s all right,” Father Vytal assured them. “Have a seat and we can talk about this.”</p><p>“He’s leaving us here,” Temperance said into Sweep’s mind.</p><p>“We knew that was the plan,” Sweep replied.</p><p>“I didn’t expect it to feel like this.”</p><p>“Like he’s abandoning us.”</p><p>Piety raised her head and looked at Father Vytal. His soft, shoulder-length, grey hair reminded her, not for the first time, of the halos of light surrounding the heads of the Eight Saints in art and description. His likewise grey beard was well-trimmed and gave him the paternal air of a grandfather. His golden-brown eyes shone under thick brows and a heavy gaze. He looked sad.</p><p>Father Vytal steepled his hands, touching the tips of his index fingers to his lips. He took a breath to say something but seemed to change his mind. He looked down, then at the High Cleric and then back at them. Sweep had never seen him so agitated. Even trapped in a room facing a horde of undead, Father Vytal had been more confident than he was now.</p><p>Sweep decided the silence had gone on long enough.</p><p>“You have to go. It’s all right. This was the plan all along. You were bringing us here. And now you have work to do, and we would be in the way. Taking care of a pair of orphans cannot be your top priority.”</p><p>“But it should be,” said Father Vytal. “There should be no greater priority than teaching and caring for our children. But it will be dangerous. Taking you to Sunslance with me was selfish. I’m sorry.”</p><p>“I don’t want him to leave,” Temperance whispered into Sweep’s mind. “I don’t want to stay here without him.”</p><p>“Look at his face,” said Sweep.</p><p>After another moment, Temperance said, “He doesn’t want this either.”</p><p>Sweep squeezed Temperance’s hand.</p><p>“There’s war coming,” Sweep said. “General Vahramp is still out there. The church needs you. You’ve already done so much for us. You took us away from that place. We can’t ask any more from you.”</p><p>Father Vytal looked away, unable to meet her gaze.</p><p>“Piety’s right,” Temperance said. “We can take care of ourselves. We’re not more important than the council or the country.”</p><p>“What I have to do is going to be dangerous,” Father Vytal repeated, talking as though he were trying to convince them.</p><p>“And we’ve had more than enough danger,” Temperance agreed.</p><p>Father Vytal looked at them, his eyes shining, his bearded-jaw clenched. After several deep breaths, he said, “Well, you’re both taking this far better than I am.”</p><p>Sweep took a step toward him and Temperance followed her lead, still hand in hand. Father Vytal stood from the couch and embraced them.</p><p>“I wanted to search for the Purple-eyed Prophet with you. I wanted to show you the cliffs of Ceres Bay, to examine the pale blue flower that only grows on the mountains of Western Artio. We weren’t done.”</p><p>Sweep laughed. “Ceres Bay and Western Artio aren’t on the way from Sacred Heart to Kinswell.”</p><p>Father Vytal looked at them, still holding them tight, tears making their way down his cheeks to hide in his beard. “That’s why it would have been a circuitous route.”</p><p>Sweep leaned her head against Father Vytal’s chest as she felt her own tears rising. Father Vytal kissed the top of her head, then Temperance’s, and squeezed them closer. For several minutes they didn’t move.</p><p>The High Cleric cleared his throat delicately, and Sweep felt a flash of anger that he’d interrupt them, that he’d be so eager to send Father Vytal away, but the High Cleric’s expression was mildly pained. He held a folio.</p><p>“Lest we forget, Tristam, you wish to sponsor them, yes?”</p><p>Father Vytal nodded. He released the girls and sat back on the couch, taking the folio and opening it.</p><p>“Girls, here at the High Temple, you will be safe, you will be educated, and, eventually, you will be offered a position within the church. Here you’ll be provided the opportunity to serve others as you should have been served.” He took up a quill the High Cleric set on the table, dipped it in the accompanying inkpot and signed his name.</p><p>“My signature tells the Church of Khulanty you are worthy of such trust.”</p><p>“We’ll be acolytes,” Sweep said.</p><p>“Yes.”</p><p>Here was an opportunity to be better than the Mother Superior of Sacred Heart Church, to prove that a Daughter of God was kind rather than cruel, inclusive rather than exclusive, helpful rather than harmful. Sweep looked at Temperance. Temperance nodded.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <strong>Year 2</strong>
</p><p>High Cleric Marcus Radden’s personal study was lit with several oil lamps burning clean and bright. A fire in the large fireplace provided additional light and much appreciated warmth. Piety had visited the High Cleric’s study often since Father Vytal had introduced them. She was no longer awed by the wealth of books on the shelves, or the view from the large round window, or the familiarity with which the High Cleric treated her.</p><p>“Good morning, Piety. Thank you for coming.”</p><p>Piety bowed. “Of course, sir. What do you want to talk about?”</p><p>The High Cleric looked up from his desk, reading glasses perched on his nose, and looked at her without smiling.</p><p>“I wanted to talk to you about this report I received. Brother Thyme is… worried about your behavior in his Morals and Ethics class.” His tone was stern, flat.</p><p>Piety felt like she’d been punched in the stomach. She and Brother Thyme often disagreed and by the way the High Cleric looked at her, it seemed he agreed with him rather than her.</p><p>“Did Brother Thyme say what he’s worried about?” Piety swallowed, her mouth dry.</p><p>“Saint Esther and the Dread Necromancer.” He tapped the paper. “In this concerned letter, Brother Thyme says you spent an hour yesterday defending the Dread Necromancer. He says you argued against Saint Esther’s actions.”</p><p>“Oh.” Her shoulders hunched and her breath caught.</p><p>Discussing scripture, philosophy, and the metaphysical with the High Cleric was an aspect of living at the High Temple Piety hadn’t become accustomed to. She was certain she never would. She reminded herself that though the High Cleric often talked with her familiarly, he was the leader of the Church of Khulanty while she was an orphan girl raised to acolyte by virtue of another’s kindness.</p><p>He looked at her over his reading glasses, no hint of the gentle smile he usually wore, and raised an eyebrow at her.</p><p>Piety lowered her eyes, folded her hands, and bowed. She heard the High Cleric’s small sigh, then the faint rustle of cloth and muted footsteps as he walked around his desk to the sitting area.</p><p>“Piety, please join me.”</p><p>Piety sat on one of the well-cushioned couches and the High Cleric sat on the other, facing her. She kept her gaze on her hands, folded on her lap.</p><p>“How did you defend her?”</p><p>Piety bit her tongue, not because she didn’t want to respond, but because she didn’t want to burst into tears. She took a deep breath, in through her nose, and tried to remind herself that the High Cleric had only ever been kind and encouraging.</p><p>“I… I just said that necromancy isn’t inherently evil. In the story, Saint Esther attacks the necromancer for no reason.”</p><p>“Ah, but Saint Esther did have a reason. The necromancer was raising the dead. Why do you believe raising the dead isn’t evil?”</p><p>Piety shrugged. “I don’t know.”</p><p>“Of course you do. Piety, look at me.”</p><p>Piety looked up, taking slow, shaky breaths. The High Cleric removed his glasses and looked at her sternly.</p><p>“She could have been raising the dead to do something benign like build a house, or even heroic, like defend the village. The story doesn’t say she was hurting anyone or scaring anyone or even that anyone in that little village nearby objected. The only one who seemed to think it was evil was Saint Esther. Why didn’t she at least try to talk to the Dread Necromancer first?”</p><p>“Do you remember how the story begins?” the High Cleric asked.</p><p>Piety nodded. “It’s a description of zombies.”</p><p>“It’s a description of rot, pain, and evil.”</p><p>Piety shrugged uncomfortably.</p><p>“You have doubts?”</p><p>“Well, what if it’s just that whoever wrote the story is afraid of necromancers? What if they got it wrong?”</p><p>The High Cleric studied her for several quiet moments. The large fire crackled and popped.</p><p>“Did you become friends with Devorah Kempenny?” When he named the black-haired girl, his voice became breathy.</p><p>Piety shivered. “No,” she whispered. “We barely spoke.”</p><p>Several more silent moments passed while the High Cleric considered. Piety did not dare to know his thoughts. She made certain her glass shield was tight as a blanket around her mind.</p><p>“You’re not the first acolyte to challenge Church teachings. But you must never forget that the Saints wrote their stories at the behest of God. They didn’t get it wrong. We know necromancy is evil because God says so.”</p><p>Piety’s skin tingled, the hair on her arms rose. She took a breath to steady her chest and clasped her hands to stop the shaking. She knew she should leave it there, should nod contritely, should let the High Cleric think she agreed with him.</p><p>It’s what she would have done at Sacred Heart.</p><p>“Sir, power runs through everything. I feel it. I’m sure you feel it too. And it’s like the weather. When a storm comes in off the ocean so hard that ships capsize, we don’t say the storm is evil, it just exists.”</p><p>“The sailors on those ships might disagree.”</p><p>“Or they might blame God. Sir, I’m a healer, but that doesn’t mean I’m inherently good. I could use my power to do all sorts of horrible things.”</p><p>“Like what?”</p><p>“Like revive a torture victim so he could be tortured again, or heal a wound so it closed over an object still in the body, or set a bone wrong and purposely cripple a leg. People can be immoral, sir. People can be evil. But a force of nature cannot.”</p><p>The High Cleric shook his head. “I once met a man, Paul, whose power was to incite madness in anyone who met his gaze. That is evil, Piety. Sometimes the evil can be removed and what remains can be salvaged, but it’s a rare case.”</p><p>Piety disagreed. The man was afflicted with an unfortunate and dangerous power, but that made neither the man nor the power evil. She didn’t say so aloud.</p><p>After several moments more, the High Cleric smiled warmly. Piety felt some nervousness drain away. The tingle dancing along her skin dissipated.</p><p>“You’ll be a powerful cleric one day. I hope you work out your understanding of good and evil.” He stood and went back to his desk, a silent dismissal. Piety stood and walked quietly to the door, but paused.</p><p>“Sir, what did you do with him?”</p><p>“Hmm?”</p><p>“The man who caused madness. Paul. What did you do with him?”</p><p>“I took his eyes.”</p><p>Piety shivered.</p><p>“It was God’s mercy. What remained was salvaged.”</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Piety took a deep breath as she stepped into the courtyard, taking in the scents of wood smoke, falling leaves, and rain coming in off the ocean. The great oaks in the courtyard had shed most of their leaves in falls of scarlet, gold, and umber. The grass had gone to pale brown and the squirrels inhabiting the courtyard begged, borrowed, and stole everything they could, in preparation for winter. Their back-and-forth chittering floated in the courtyard.</p><p>The stone-paved path was covered in dried leaves whispering aside as she walked through them. Briefly, she felt a tinge of responsibility, like she should fetch a broom and sweep the pathway clean, but those days were behind her. Almost a year now. The High Temple paid a head gardener a hefty sum to keep the gardens, lawns, and courtyards neat and clean, and the head gardener oversaw several other gardeners to do such things as sweep pathways. Sweeping was no longer Piety’s responsibility and it was no longer her name.</p><p>Piety didn’t know when she’d stopped thinking of herself as Sweep, but in the months since she’d come to live, study, and train at the High Temple in Kinswell, her mindset had shifted. Everyone here called her Piety, and she had no reason to think of herself any other way.</p><p>There were a few other acolytes in the courtyard, enjoying the cool afternoon. They waved as she passed and she smiled and waved back, careful not to drop the package tucked under her arm.</p><p>It had been strange, at first, how different the acolytes at the High Temple were from the acolytes at Sacred Heart. Though they were still mostly from noble families and many had a low opinion of manual labor, they were generally friendlier and regarded their duty as one of service to God and His people. None thought her white hair or left hand was a sign of evil.</p><p>Piety shook her head and watched the pure white hair dance in front of her face, felt it tickle across the back of her neck. Her hair was longer now than it had ever been, no longer cut short by the Mother Superior.</p><p>It had been months since Piety had thought about the Mother Superior, and she realized thinking about her no longer brought the clench of fear or the sting of tears it once had. Instead, she felt relieved; she felt she could breathe and move and think without fear of being hit.</p><p>At the other end of the courtyard she entered the distillery, where were made and stored a variety of brews, including wine, beer, and medicine. Initially, it had been peculiar to Piety that the High Temple would make and store spirits, the Mother Superior had often preached against the evils of alcohol, but it had been another case of the Mother Superior being wrong.</p><p>Piety laughed and shook her head.</p><p>Twice in as many minutes her thoughts had taken her back to Sacred Heart and that awful woman, and twice she had blithely dismissed her. It was a nice feeling, to not be afraid.</p><p>Piety looked down at the small package wrapped in brown paper and held with twine she’d brought with her. Written in a neat hand she’d come to know well as Father Vytal’s, was the name Temperance Sunday. Their mentor had sent letters nearly once a week, telling them about his adventures. He never let on what the council had sent him to do or where he was, mentioning no town or province by name, but the stories he sent were akin to the adventures they had shared trekking along the Grand River: a broken leg, a lost treasure, a disputed tract of land.</p><p>Piety descended the worn stone stairs to a hallway lit by thin, horizontal windows near the ceiling. Lately, Temperance spent most of her time here, mixing all manner of things she’d excitedly explain to Piety over dinner, but which Piety barely understood.</p><p>A sudden explosion, as though lightning had struck somewhere in the building, loosed dust from the ceiling and shook the windows in their casings. A door down the hall slammed against the wall, letting loose billowing smoke and soot. Temperance soon followed, coughing and choking and covered in black soot from head to toe, the thick leather apron she wore was pockmarked, and those marks were smoking. An acrid stench filled the hall. Temperance pushed her soot blackened goggles up off her face and collapsed to her hands and knees, still coughing.</p><p>“Temperance!”</p><p>Piety ran toward her friend, dropping to her knees beside Temperance and setting the package on the floor. With ease of practice, she pictured her mindspace and opened herself to her power, allowing it to fill her. With a hand on Temperance’s shoulder, she let her senses delve into the other girl, telling her what was wrong. Smoke and soot filled Temperance’s lungs and Piety focused her power there, helping Temperance’s body to expel the intruding substance with three mighty coughs, and then helping her throat to smooth over the irritation caused by the smoke and heavy coughing.</p><p>Temperance sat back on her heels with a deep breath. The goggles with the round glass lenses held to her head with a leather strap, were pushed onto her head, holding her grimy hair back. Tears tracked down her soot-covered face, making clear tracks in the black. She smelled of sulfur, like a struck match.</p><p>“Piety,” she said. “Good to see you.”</p><p>“And just in time it would seem.”</p><p>Temperance laughed happily. “You’ll never guess what I’ve done.”</p><p>“It sounds like you were trying to destroy the distillery. Are you playing with alcohol fumes again?”</p><p>Temperance eased from kneeling to sitting. “No, no,” she waved her hand in the air between them dismissively, “Nothing like that. I’ve created…” but she paused and looked at Piety though lidded eyes.</p><p>“Created what?”</p><p>“I’m not sure I should tell you. It’ll ruin the surprise.”</p><p>“What surprise?”</p><p>But Temperance changed the subject. “What’s that?” she pointed to the package Piety had set down nearby.</p><p>“You’re really not going to tell me?” Piety demanded.</p><p>Temperance laughed and shook her head. “No. Not yet anyway. I want to make certain I’ve got it right first.”</p><p>“You know, I could have let you choke on the floor for a while.”</p><p>Temperance picked up the package and flipped it over to show her name in Father Vytal’s handwriting. “You wouldn’t have done that,” Temperance said. “Not even for a secret.” She held up the package to Piety. “What do you suppose this is?”</p><p>“A birthday gift,” Piety replied.</p><p>Temperance’s eyes went wide. “You think so?”</p><p>Piety nodded. “Father Vytal wouldn’t forget your birthday.” She smiled. “Of course, your birthday isn’t for three more days. Perhaps I should take it back,” she reached for the package but Temperance thrust it behind her back.</p><p>“Don’t you dare, Piety Churchstep.” Temperance stuck her tongue.</p><p>Piety laughed. “Well, at least come back to the dormitories with me and get cleaned up first. You’ll mark it up with soot as you are.”</p><p>They stood and turned to the stairs in time to see Mother Josephine Simmons coming down them, her skirts held up so she could descend quickly. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and looked down the hallway at them. She was a tall woman with broad shoulders and a big nose. She was clad in simple brown and grey work clothes. Her golden sunburst amulet was tucked away under her dress.</p><p>“Temperance,” she said with a hint a humor. “I should have guessed.”</p><p>Piety and Temperance folded their hands at their waists and bowed quickly.</p><p>Mother Simmons waved a hand at them. “Quit that,” she admonished. “So, Temperance, have you destroyed another laboratory?”</p><p>“Another?” Piety asked, looking at her friend.</p><p>“Not entirely,” Temperance answered, ignoring Piety’s incredulous look. “And, I think I’ve finally got it.”</p><p>Mother Simmons nodded. “Of course you do, dear. But from now on, I think I’m going to have to insist on a healer present while you conduct your experiments.”</p><p>Piety nodded. “I’ll do it, Mother.”</p><p>“Of course you will,” she smiled. “I’ll talk to the Dean of Students to see if we can adjust your studies with Temperance’s experiments.”</p><p>Her smile turned to a critical examination. “Now, run along and clean up. I’ll take care of this mess.”</p><p>“Seriously?” Temperance said. “Since when do you clean up after me?”</p><p>Mother Simmons fixed her with a stern look.</p><p>“It’s well within my purview to help an acolyte once in a while. Now go on before I change my mind.”</p><p>The two hurried back to the dormitories where Temperance took her time cleaning up before inviting Piety over to her room. Piety was re-reading Saint Esther and the Dread Necromancer, looking for some hint of understanding from the Saint.</p><p>Piety sat on Temperance’s bed while her friend tried to shift sheaves of paper from her chair to her desk, which was cluttered with jars of herbs and packets of powders and the instruments with which to work with them: scales, drying racks, and the mortar and pestle Father Vytal had given her months ago.</p><p>Piety looked around at the clutter and shook her head.</p><p>“You’re usually more organized than this.”</p><p>Temperance sighed and gave up trying to find a suitable place for the papers. She set them back on her chair instead and sat on the bed next to Piety. “I’m working on something special,” she said.</p><p>“The same special thing you won’t tell me about?” Piety reached down the bedside and plucked a hairbrush from the clutter. She scootched behind Temperance and began brushing her hair.  </p><p>“That’s nice,” Temperance said. She sighed and her shoulders relaxed. “But no, I won’t tell you. Not yet. It’s a secret.”</p><p>“And what about your package from Father Vytal? Aren’t you going to open it?”</p><p>“Oh!” said Temperance, and she straightened quickly, pulling her hair against the brush. Leaning off the bed, she snatched the package off the desk and tore it open. A thick, black book fell onto the bed. Temperance picked it up and leafed through it.</p><p>Piety let her friend examine the book in silence for several minutes before she asked, “What is it?”</p><p>“It’s an index of herbalism,” said Temperance quietly. “It’s got notes and observations from all kinds of people I’ve heard about in Mother Simmons’s classes. It’s got sketches and formulae and recipes…” Temperance trailed off, becoming engrossed in the book.</p><p>“Happy birthday,” Piety kissed the back of her friend’s head.</p><p>The explosion and package had chased the memory of her conversation with the High Cleric from her mind, but now it returned and Piety wanted to ask Temperance what she thought of it all, but her friend was absorbed in her birthday gift. There would be another time.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>The months slid along in a cascade of brightly colored leaves and cups of spiced cider, cold gusts of wind and late nights reading by candlelight. The first snow came in the second week of eleven-month and buried Kinswell in thick powdery white. Two weeks later, at the end of eleven-month, the clerics and acolytes of the High Temple gathered in the massive sanctuary to observe the official coming of Winter, the holyday associated with Saint Lucius the Just. It no longer seemed odd to Piety that she should be counted amongst the acolytes.</p><p>The sanctuary at the High Temple was at least three times as big as the one at Sacred Heart and the acolytes, clerics, workmen, and servants only took up a third, the rest was filled with people from Kinswell, come to celebrate the holyday. Those who hadn’t arrived early enough to secure a spot, or weren’t important enough to reserve one in the sanctuary itself, crowded Kinswell Square, the plaza between the High Temple and the Royal Palace where they danced, sang, ate, and drank in celebration.</p><p>One month later was the new year. New year wasn’t a holyday marked by solstice, equinox, or season’s beginning, and there was no saint associated with it. Instead, the celebration marked the day First Royal Dalton Loreamer had founded the Nation of Khulanty over one hundred years ago. Some in the church disparaged celebrating the new year, claiming it was a secular holyday and that Royal Dalton Loreamer was revered like a saint.</p><p>New year day was also Heir Isabel Loreamer’s birthday, marking her nineteenth year. Every day of the week before, there was a party held in her honor and on the eve of the new year, the eve of her birthday, a grand ball was to be held at the Royal Palace and many notable dignitaries were invited. The celebration lasted the whole day and Kinswell Square was crowded with those celebrating both the new year and the heir’s birthday, each commencing at midnight.</p><p>Piety was glad no one but Temperance knew that new year was her birthday too. Or at least her founday. Some would have made a big deal of it and Piety didn’t want that. Temperance had promised not to tell anyone.</p><p>The morning of the eve of new year was spent in lectures; powers theory, ethics, history. Mother Simmons had assigned Piety on duty while Temperance conducted her experiments, but she was one in a rotation of five, and today was not her day, so she spent some time in the temple library, looking up stories on Saint Claes, Saint of Midwinter.</p><p>After lunch, was powers class.</p><p>“Let the tip of your tongue rest on the roof of your mouth, just behind your teeth. Breathe through your nose, fill your lungs and let them exhale. Focus on each part of your body in turn, starting with your toes all the way to your head, letting each relax in turn. Still your mind.”</p><p>Piety didn’t need the meditation exercises, she knew how to enter the room in her mind, but she liked powers class and class always started with meditation. So, Piety stilled her thoughts as coached, and relaxed in meditation.</p><p>“Picture a room. It’s your room. It’s a comfortable room where you can relax and concentrate for as long as you need to.”</p><p>Piety hadn’t told anyone at the High Temple about how she used the room in her mind. For everyone else in the class, it was nothing but a mental picture, a metaphor that helped them access their power. They could picture a blossoming flower or a burning candle and achieve the same effect. Most would abandon the practice when accessing power became as natural as breathing. But for Piety it was something more. She already had three powers for certain; telepathy, martyr, and healing, to acknowledge she could do something with the room in her mind no one else could might be considered a fourth power and she already got enough attention for having three powers as it was. The attention made her uncomfortable.</p><p>Now in the room in her mind, the teacher’s voice was distant, as though coming from across a large space. Piety sat at her desk in the room in her mind and waited for the teacher to continue.</p><p>“Now, picture a table in the center of the room and on the center of the table is a bowl and in the bowl is still, pure water. This water is your power.”</p><p> “Gently dip your hand into the water and feel it caress your skin. This is your power. Let it feel you, let it become one with you, feel your power, hold it, shape it.”</p><p>Piety let her power fill her and it felt like that first time, when she had been so young and she’d stared at the shining stained-glass window and had felt God’s presence, listening to the faint chimes at the edge of sound. And just beyond the edge of everything, she felt the gaping cosmic void where all power originated and she was tempted to pull aside the veil between here and there and look into the beyond. But caution stayed her hand.</p><p>Piety opened her eyes. Her fellow pupils glowed to her vision, varying shades of orange. At the head of the class sat Hirrom Berek, the man responsible for guiding acolytes through basic power use in their first year at the High Temple. He was a round man with only a few white wisps of hair. He was always gentle and kind.</p><p>Most acolytes would learn to harness their power in a year’s time and be ready for individual tutoring. In Piety’s case, she had already mastered this particular lesson, but even acolytes who came to the High Temple able to access their power were made to take the class so as to insure each had the same training and make sure nothing had been overlooked. </p><p>Father Berek approached each student in turn, spoke with him or her quietly, and moved on. He came to Piety last. “Piety, your aura is looking well today.”</p><p>“Thank you, sir.”</p><p>Father Berek was an aura reader, and he always complimented her on her aura. She’d gotten used to it though it still seemed an odd greeting to her.</p><p>“Are you looking forward to this evening’s festivities?”</p><p>Piety shrugged. “It’s not a holyday. But Temperance seems excited. She’s been working with Mother Simmons on something. She won’t tell me what.”</p><p>“Is that so?” But he said it with a conspiratorial tone that made Piety think he knew what was going on. Father Berek often engaged in small talk to put his students at ease. This was the first time he’d teased her.</p><p>“Sir, do you know what she’s planning?”</p><p>Father Berek put up his hands. “Ask me no questions, acolyte. Mother Simmons will have my hide if I tell.”</p><p>Piety sighed and nodded. “Shall we continue then?”</p><p>Father Berek smiled. “Indeed. Perhaps you should be running this class instead of a distractible old man.”</p><p>Piety blushed and looked away. “I would not presume, sir…”</p><p>“I’m only teasing you, Piety. Come now. Concentrate on your powers.”</p><p>Piety pictured the room in her mind and eased into her power, like sitting next to a hearthfire. She shivered at the tingle across her skin, and the faint chimes at her ears, then she touched first her healing power; let it fill her with the invigorating buzz of life.</p><p>“Very good, Piety. Now the martyr.” Father Berek smiled.</p><p>Piety let go of the healing power with some reluctance and reached for the power to absorb another’s pain. This was a power Piety had only been asked to demonstrate once, but was required to touch every time she had powers class. It was a soft power, like reaching into a pile of cushiony bed sheets.</p><p>“Good. Now the telepathy.”</p><p>And Piety touched the smooth, supple glass of her mental shield before she made Father Berek aware of her, tapping politely at his mental door. Father Berek had an impressive mental shield, but he let her through.</p><p>“Well done, Piety, as always.” His mental voice was strong, as strong as Father Vytal’s.</p><p>“Thank you, sir.”</p><p>“Piety, I’ve been meaning to mention… I’ve read many auras, but yours still mystifies me.”</p><p>“Sir?”</p><p>“We say you have three powers, which is more than any other alive today. But when I look at your aura, I see so many swirling colors, and yet there is a solid core. I believe there is more to you than we know.”</p><p>Sweep shrugged uncomfortably. “Like more powers?”</p><p>Father Berek nodded and spoke out loud in tandem with his mental voice. “You’re uncomfortable with standing out in a crowd. But Piety, it’s okay to be different. There will be some who hate you for it, but there’s nothing you can do about that. If you don’t want to tell me now, that’s fine. But if there’s more you can do, we should start you practicing it.”</p><p>For years, Piety had stood out because of her white hair and been abused for it. Now, despite reassurance, she was still afraid to stand out.</p><p>Piety left class early, claiming a headache, and Father Berek let her go with a knowing look.</p><p>When Piety entered the bathing room it was empty, a rare treat for such a shared facility. Each floor of the dormitories was designated either for boys or for girls and each floor had its own bathing tubs fed by a boiler and distributed by a clever array of pipes and taps. The bathing rooms were at least a century old, but the pipes were a new contrivance, recently installed, imported from Kempenny Province.</p><p>Turning a few knobs, Piety sent hot water rushing into a large, copper tub. Minutes later, she lowered herself slowly into the tub of steaming water and let the heat and steam relax her. She stared at the far wall where several stacks of folded towels rested on shelves.</p><p>Father Berek had said her aura was so many swirling colors, and he was the expert in such matters, rivaling even Father Vytal’s reputation. So, she closed her eyes and focused on that still, cool well of power, comforting as a warm fire on midwinter and prodded at it.</p><p>With half open eyes, she slid to the room in her mind. She could see the desk in her mind even as she stared at the towel shelf in the bathing room. She dipped her finger in the bowl of water on her desk. In turn, she touched and recognized her powers: healing, martyr, telepathy. And, indeed, there was something else. Perhaps it had always been there and she’d just never noticed.</p><p>Perhaps.</p><p>She reached for the power and felt it slide through her fingers like water. Her skin tingled with it. She reached again and again it eluded her.</p><p>Piety shifted restlessly in the tub, sending the steaming water rippling.</p><p>In her mindspace, she stood and took time to examine the chessboard and scan the bookshelf for any changes. She moved a pawn.</p><p>She reached again for her power but, rather than seeking that flavor of power she did not know, she let it all suffuse her; she enjoyed the tingle along her skin and the chiming ghost of a sound at the edge of hearing. Rather than seeking it, she let it roll about within. Rather than grasping for it, she examined her chess board and stared at the towels, sat in her arm chair and reclined in the tub. Slowly, like approaching a frightened animal, she set aside her healing, her martyr, her telepathy and let the rest of it come to her…</p><p>The stacked towels burst from their shelf toward her like they’d been hit by a gust of wind. They unfurled and scattered thumping and fluttering and settling around her. Several ended up in the tub with her.</p><p>Piety gasped and sat up, sliding from the mindspace. Her shoulders ached like after a full day of chores without rest. Her breathing came hard and sudden. Her teeth were clenched.</p><p>Father Berek had been right.</p><p>
  <strong>• • •</strong>
</p><p>Because new year day was not an official holyday, there was no vigil in the sanctuary. Instead, those who wanted to participate in the celebration gathered in the courtyard of the High Temple, or in the Kinswell Square between the Royal Palace and the temple. Piety had planned to spend the evening studying in her room, but several days ago, Temperance had insisted she join her in the square.</p><p>Piety was in her room, looking out her window to the great square. The square was packed with people. Impromptu stages displayed musicians, actors, and sleight of hand artists. Merchants had set up booths wherever was convenient and sold food and drink and knickknacks. People danced and ate and sang and drank, preparing to celebrate the Newyear and Heir Isabel’s nineteenth birthday. For the dual celebration, the people of Kinswell seemed prepared to celebrate twice as exuberantly. According to firsthand accounts, the real partying started after the church’s bells struck midnight.</p><p>A knocking at her door drew her attention away from the crowd below. “Come in, Temperance,” she said.</p><p>“Piety, it’s Marcus.” High Cleric Marcus Radden’s baritone voice rumbled through the door.</p><p>“Oh.” Piety hurried to the door and opened it, bowing quickly. The High Cleric had not invited her to his study since their discussion of Saint Esther and the Dread Necromancer. He’d never come to her room before. The visitation was so unexpected she only remembered how uncomfortable their last meeting had made her after she’d opened the door and bowed. She wondered if he’d found out about her flinging towels off the bathhouse shelf.</p><p>The High Cleric returned the bow, a gesture that still shocked Piety.</p><p>“Piety, I’m sorry to bother you when I’m sure you’d rather be celebrating, but there’s someone I’d like to introduce you to. Do you have the time?”</p><p>Piety was taken aback. “Uh… yes, yes sir. Will I need my coat?”</p><p>The High Cleric shook his head. “No, she’s in my office.”</p><p>They walked next to each other, trailed by a pair of church guards, as they made their way into the upper floors of the dormitories where the higher-ranking members of the church living in the High Temple, had their rooms. Piety thought it disconcerting the High Cleric was considered so vulnerable as to need guards even in the High Temple.</p><p>As they walked, the High Cleric said, “Have you given any thought to our last conversation?”</p><p>Piety nodded slowly. “I have, sir.”</p><p>“Good.”</p><p>And that was it. He didn’t ask her if she’d changed her mind, if she agreed with him, just whether or not she’d thought on it.</p><p>Another pair of guards stood at the door to the High Cleric’s office, but these guardsmen were dressed in the purple and silver of the Khulanty guard instead of the scarlet and gold of the Church. The purple-clad guards saluted as the High Cleric approached and he nodded to them. The High Cleric’s guards stayed outside the office while he and Piety entered.</p><p>A woman stood from one of the couches adorning the sitting area. She was tall and lithe with long silvery hair and a confident demeanor. The woman approached and held her hand out to Piety.</p><p>“Piety Churchstep, Cleric Radden has told me much about you.”</p><p>Piety took the woman’s hand tentatively. “Hello,” she said shyly.</p><p>“Piety, this is Isabel Loreamer, the Heir to Khulanty’s throne.”</p>
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